


I Become With You

by CaptainTarthister



Series: Blue Awakening [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Absofuckinglutely not, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst is terrifying, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Never drabbles from me, Oral Sex, Past Sexual Assault, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Assault, Smut, Sort of marriage of convenience, Trials, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, not a drabble, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11946015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: With the trial ending, Jaime and Brienne grapple with who they are to each other.





	1. Sweetness in the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Previously on Blue Awakening:
> 
> She nodded. Sweating profusely, she pumped up and down his cock, biting her lip at the slickness of rubber inside her. As her cunt became accustomed to the stretch his cock needed, she lowered herself some more.  
> It happened quickly. A pop of pain flaring inside her cunt. Brienne cried out, freezing. Jaime stared at her, stunned.  
> “What the—Brienne,” he growled, closing his eyes briefly as she completely lowered herself on his cock. Gods, it wasn’t as painful anymore but still. Despite the reprimand promised in his tone, he opened his eyes and seized her hips. He helped her move up and down his cock.  
> “You should have told me,” he whispered raggedly as her motions sped up. He grabbed her by the nape and buried his tongue in her mouth. She moaned and kissed him back, just stopping long enough to tell him the truth.  
> “I didn’t want to stop.”  
> There would be repercussions later. That she was sure of. But for now, being with Jaime, having him inside her, she felt that she could live.
> 
> ***  
> “We don’t love each other, Jaime.”  
> Jaime’s hand fell from her nape. “I care about you. I will protect you. Shouldn’t that be enough?”  
> Brienne shook her head and protested, “Look, I get that you want to help me. Thank you. You have no idea how deeply grateful I am but---you know this isn’t right! And—and what happens after, Jaime? We can’t. . .we don’t love each other. We can’t be together.  
> Jaime appeared to consider her words. When he spoke, he sounded very calm,“What if we stipulate in the prenup that once the trial is over and ending in a favorable verdict, we have the option to file for a divorce?”  
> The word was out of Brienne’s lips before she could think.  
> “Yes.”  
> Jaime stilled. “Yes to what?”  
> Brienne felt her heart being cleaved in two. “I’ll—I’ll marry you. Yes, Jaime.”
> 
> ***  
> “That woman took advantage of a vulnerable widower—me, and as thanks she’s slapped me with the most ridiculous, damaging charges!” Roose protested. As the jury gasped at his outburst, Vargo was once again on his feet, shouting for a recess. Judge Clegane banged his gavel while Roose continued to rant.  
> “What the fuck is a man supposed to think when a woman parades without bras and her fucking nipples on full display? If she was bothered by the attention I gave to her, she didn’t say anything. She seduced me and she’s made a fool of me—“  
> “Control your client, Mr. Hoat!” Judge Clegane roared.  
> “Mr. Bolton, you be quiet!” Vargo was yelling as he shouldered past a calm Barristan Selmy.  
> Roose turned his pale eyes to Brienne and the words rolled smooth and full of loathing. “You fucking whore.”  
> Olenna could only shout as Jaime leaped from his seat and ran toward Roose Bolton, ready to bash his face to the ground yet again.
> 
> ***
> 
> In between rubbing warmth back to his skin and murmuring what she hoped were soothing sounds, she kissed him. Kissed him on the forehead, the temple, along his hairline. The tip of his nose. His cheeks. His chin. Throat. Jaime groaned and his hand tugged at her hair, urging her lips towards his mouth. So she kissed him, pouring into it the tangle of emotions only this man could awaken in her. She nearly wept in relief when he kissed her back, his passion matching hers. She held him to her, her legs climbing to the sides of his waist. Jaime only had to nudge her slightly so she would lay fully on the couch.  
> He was still cool to the touch, but where her hands and parts of her pressed warmed towards a fever. As their mouths and tongues continued to clash, she heard the rustle of the damp robe being pushed off his shoulders and towards the floor. That roused her as she realized that not only was Jaime hard and thrusting between her legs, he was apparently feeling better. Her eyes widened in question in answer, his own gazed at her tenderly.  
> Mesmerized, she sat up to pull off her robe. Jaime groaned and drew her toward him, meaning for her to be on top of him once again. The resolve in Jaime’s face was a mirror of her own. After two months of just sleeping with each other, of longing looks, finally, here they were. But things were different now.  
> “Come here,” Brienne whispered, her voice dark and heavy with emotion. She lay back on the couch, offering herself.  
> The message was not lost to Jaime. “I will never forget this, Brienne.”  
> He had been on top of her before but never like this. It was clear he had been holding out on her. His mouth seized hers like a man starved . . .

Brienne couldn’t be stopped previous night. Again and again she sought Jaime, rousing him with boldening kisses, the slide of her soft flesh against his, the warmth of her moans. Every time Jaime would think himself wrung out his cock would harden, eager and desperate to be one with her for one more time. She drew him on top of her, the light in her eyes warring with the blush in her cheeks at the newness of being together like this.

It was sweet how her eyes lit up like blue stars when he settled between her legs, followed by a gasp as he rested the full weight of his body on her. Her arms would open, as if she had always held him. Seeing her surprise and pleasure from it was a sight he couldn’t get enough as well.

Jaime watched her sleeping from a chair, his expression thoughtful yet scrutinizing. Brienne slept on her back, an arm resting on her flat stomach, the other arm flung to the side. Her legs were a wanton, inviting spread, thighs partially obscured by the blanket. Red-pink nipples stood taut from the cool morning.

He got up, putting his sketchpad and charcoal on the table. A tender brush swept her hair away from her face. A quick flick of the wrist brought the blanket to her chest. Another caress, on her cheek, then he returned to the chair, picking up the pad and charcoal.

He was exercising a light hand capturing the shadows of the morning on her body when she stirred, turning slowly and stretching like a very contented cat. Shifting to her side, then her stomach, the sleepy listlessness of her arms and legs dragged the blanket down. He admired the slope of her shoulder, the slight rise of a curve that hinted at her buttocks, the hairs peeking between the cheeks. As his heart beat erratically, she raised her head and peered at him with sleepy sapphire eyes.

Jaime held his breath as she stared at the pad on his lap, the smudges of gray on his fingers. She glanced at the blanket near the foot of the bed then back at him.

“You were drawing me,” she said, not getting up from the bed. Nor did she cover herself.

“Yes.” He said.

“Are you done?”

“Not yet.” He turned the pad so he had a fresh page. He looked at her, hoping she got the hint.

To his surprise, Brienne removed the rest of the blanket from her person. She sat up. Pale hair tousled and sticking out in all directions, her sapphire eyes soft and heavy-lidded. In the light, her skin was marble with faint splashes of pink freckles. His eyes went dark at the sight of her nipples still swollen from his kisses.

He couldn’t look away from her.

“How do you want me?”

 _At my side. Always at my side_ , he wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Could you move, lie on your back. Yes. Like that. Curve your arm towards your face. Lower. Hand by your cheek. That’s it. Look at me. No, relax your legs. Bend them just like that. Yes. Don’t. . .let me see your cunt.”

Her cheeks were a lovely candy-pink at his last instruction. Her thighs were stained from their fucking. A momentary lightheadedness hit him so he had to look away.

“Just like that, sweetheart.” He said, picking up the charcoal and keeping a firm grip on it.

The sketch was a preliminary study of what he hoped would be a painting. He wanted to paint her in a way that showed how the light loved her body, celebrating the strength in her hands and legs, her, instead of softening. He would have to try capturing the blue of her eyes. He hoped to paint her in such a way that whoever saw her fell in love.

He worked for close to an hour. The charcoal sang across the paper, his heart echoing the rhythm. It was next to impossible to keep still. The quiet between them was only broken by her sigh, his throat-clearing, the rustle of her body against the sheet as she relieved some stiffness from her limbs. Her eyes never left him.

She remained in her position as he suddenly put away the pad and charcoal to stand up. Her sudden intake of breath was a loud hiss as she saw his erection. Jaime went to her and she made room for him. They lay on their sides, eyes on each other, breath warming each other’s lips. She put a hand on his chest, palm skimming the taut muscles under the golden hairs. Jaime had to resist groaning out loud; instead he put an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

 The previous night was a turning point for them. For the first time in his life, Jaime was unburdened by dread and shame. The mental and emotional unloading found him fainting in the tub but Brienne had been there, once again helping without expectations. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he remembered her calling for him, being cradled in her strong arms. No one had held him like she had. Not even his own mother—there was little of her he could remember now.

He looked at her push herself up. What boldness she had last night had fled her. The shy, hesitant young woman was back, along with the big blue eyes searching his face for a sign, a flinch, a cringe. His heart twisted at the sweetness of it, seeing the resolve in her eyes just before she brushed her lips against his. She retreated, her breath a warm, dry rush on his face.

“Why did you stop?” He asked her, steeling himself from touching her.

“I-I’m not sure what to do,” she admitted. “I—I—was last night too much?”

He had to smile. “Do you hear me complaining?”

She blushed. “I wish to please my husband.”

It should make him shout to Seven Heavens how she called him that without stumbling over the word. Instead it reminded him why she wore his ring. But he couldn’t let that cloud hang over them first thing this morning. He pulled her back down and pressed his mouth on her.

Then she suddenly pulled back. There was uncertainty in her eyes.

“Sweetheart,” he started to reassure her, touching her shoulder.

“Do you want to fuck?” It came out in a rush.

“Do _you_ want to fuck?”

She nodded.

He smiled again and pulled her over him. She shook her head and instead lay back on the bed. “Fuck me, Jaime,” she whispered, heat deepening her blush. “But I want you on top of me. Again.”

He had been hesitant every time she pulled him on top of her. This morning, with the sun bathing in her its golden light, baring her eyes, her freckles and every mark of his kisses and body on her flesh, he finally believed the trust she put in him. He moved over her, slow to lower his body on the strong, firm expanse of her.

Brienne greeted him with a kiss.

Jaime was lost. Her eyes undid him, her touch. He was no one,  just a breathing, pulsing thing in her arms. He filled her mouth with his tongue, wishing to be joined with her in every way possible and not wanting to be alone again. He wanted her to remember how it was, with him, how it could only be with him, so he took long, eager pulls of her swollen nipples with his mouth. Her cries spurred him on, deepening and hardening the kisses he laid up and down and all over her body. He swept her long legs far apart to show her he was the only one to be trusted with this, like this.

He watched her thrash and sob as he unraveled her with every lave and kiss on her sticky cunt. She tasted faintly of his salt, and of her. His tongue was firm in fucking her, flicking at the inner crevices and curves of her cunt that drew loud gasps from her lips, made her eyes huge and disbelieving. His smile was pure pleasure as she discovered this kind of pleasure. Her legs, bent and clamped around his head, he had to wedge apart. Spreading them wide until her feet nearly hung down the edge of the bed. He thumbed her labia wide open, baring the wet, pink thrust of her clit. His tongue circled her clit, pulling a rough grunt from her. When he sucked on it loudly, she screamed.

It was going to be one of his biggest regrets, not being able to draw Brienne as she thrashed and surrendered to pleasure. She was a fucking masterpiece, a miasma of pale gold and various shades of unnamed pink, ivory, brilliant sapphires. Jaime ran his tongue up and down the wet pink treat under her slit before thrusting inside her again.

Her come hit him right on the tongue and he growled, lapping hungrily at the intensifying flavor of her cunt. He pressed his face deeper until his nose was bumping against her clit, the rough curls of her pubic hair scratched his cheeks. She bent her legs, flattened her feet on the bed and pushed against his tongue, his face. He had to fight back a smile. _She was fucking his face._

He brought her down from the high with gentle, lingering licks and feather kisses. Her tremors were slow to ease but they did. When he was sure she was seeing clearly again, he climbed over her body, dropping kisses on her stomach, pulling a nipple deep in his mouth. He had only begun to push her toward the edge again but she surprised him. She groaned his name, her hips lurched up and then something wet splashed at his thigh.

His mouth on her lips was tender, making her shudder some more at the sudden shift in the tempo of their fucking. He was careful in placing her arms above her head, trapping her wrists with his hands they kissed. There was no resistance or faltering in Brienne. In fact, she even wrapped a leg around his hip, the heel of her foot sliding sensuously up and down the line that divided his ass. Jaime groaned against her tongue, his cock getting impossibly harder at her kisses, the innocent glide of her foot.

He kept kissing her as he took his cock, rubbing the leaking head between her dripping folds, her clit. She squealed so he did it again, using his cock to play and part her flesh until it became unbearable to not be with her.

He grunted against her shoulder as he started to thrust. She held on to his back, kissing the side of his neck, the tip of his ear. A gasp drifted from her as he sank his entire length inside her at last. He raised himself and found huge blue eyes looking at him. Jaime cradled her burning face in his hands, pulled back until only his tip remained in her, then lunged deep. He wanted to be deeper so he took her leg and propped it on his shoulder.

He pumped inside her, gasping against her lips as he fought his imminent release to ensure her pleasure again.  He wanted her to know it was a guarantee in his arms. As confident as Brienne was apparently becoming, her hips still moved shyly although her cunt was a warm, enticing, very tight trap. Sweat poured from their bodies and mingled with each other’s, Brienne’s eyes falling close as Jaime panted against her sweat-slick throat. He took advantage of her distraction by pulling her other leg, positioning it on his shoulder too. Her eyes widened.

“What—oh gods,” she moaned as Jaime felt himself slide deep inside her by another inch.

“You like it, right?” He asked, desperate for confirmation. She must have nodded, gasped yes. He couldn’t discern it because her body suddenly acquired a rapid pace. He continued fucking her, relishing the tight depths of her cunt. “I want you to love how I feel inside you,” he grunted against her lips. Her eyes opened. _I want you to love me,_ he almost said. Instead, he whispered, “My wife. My Brienne.”

Both roared as she tightened around him. They gritted their teeth until another cry was torn from Brienne’s throat and Jaime nearly lost it as he felt a fresh wave of her come. Bracing his hands by her shoulders, he gave in to the demands of his body, fucking her savagely, surrendering to the sensations and ultimate pleasure of being with her, like this.

He collapsed in her arms but was very aware of the sweat that slicked her breasts, heard the firm, rapid beating of her heart. He listened to sweet, vital sound, the very beat of Brienne, so he didn’t catch right away what she was chanting above his head. When he did, he embraced her tightly.

“Yours, Jaime. I’m yours.”

 

 

*****

Brienne felt that she had never set foot in the courtroom until today. With Roose Bolton’s attack, Jaime going for his throat  and then arrested, plus what she believed was a turning point in her marriage, it was a little hard to believe that they all happened just yesterday.

What she could believe was the memory of Jaime all over her body, inside her. Her lips still tingled from the many, many kisses they shared. Though it was a little chilly in the courtroom, she was warm just from thinking how he had held her and loved her. He had to love her to trust her as he had, to do the things he had done last night. She had to believe it wasn’t wishful thinking feeling that he loved her.

She turned to look behind her. Jaime was right behind her, and seated next to him was Olenna, Bronn and Sansa. Jaime met her stare and gave her a small, reassuring smile. She gave him a grateful one.

Then the doors opened again and Roose Bolton was ushered in the room. Brienne felt sick to her stomach. Barristan Selmy had yet to arrive. Vargo Hoat too. She quickly turned to face the front of the room, trying to ignore that nothing lay between her and Roose but empty chairs and an aisle.

She put her hands on her lap, twirling her wedding band on her finger. It brought her some calm. And courage. More courage than she thought possible.

From behind, she could hear Olenna murmuring something. She didn’t dare look. She could never fool Jaime. If he saw how tensed he was, he might go over to Roose again. His behavior nearly got him banned from Judge Clegane’s courtroom, if not for Barristan and Addam interceding on his behalf.

The doors opened and this time Barristan and Vargo entered the room. Despite being twenty years older than the latter, Barristan’s movements were agile and springy. He also looked like he had gotten a good night’s sleep. Vargo looked cross and it didn’t abate when he reached his client.

“Good morning, Brienne,” Barristan greeted her warmly as he put his briefcase on the table before sitting down.

“Mr. Selmy,” Brienne acknowledged. The presence of the older man was a comfort. With his thick white hair and kind blue eyes, he reminded her of Selwyn.

Then Judge Clegane entered the room.

“All rise.”

He sat down and grunted to everyone, “Be seated.”

“Yesterday, this court witnessed some unacceptable behavior. Despite this, I request that the jury keep their focus on the details gathered so far from testimonies and cross-examinations. New witnesses pertinent to the case at hand will also be at court today. That is all. Now let’s proceed. Mr. Selmy.”

Barristan stood up, buttoning his black suit jacket. “The prosecution once again calls Mr. Bolton to the stand.”

Surprised murmurings scattered through the room. Even the judge looked startled but he nodded. He glared at the table where Hoat and Roose sat. Hoat didn’t bother masking his shock. “What else does the prosecution want from my client? Wasn’t yesterday enough?”

“No. I thought it pertinent that the court witness a testimony from your client that is honest as much as he can manage, and rational. I’m actually giving him a chance, Mr. Hoat.”

“Strike Mr. Selmy’s last sentence from record,” Clegane instructed the stenographer. “Mr. Selmy, maybe you should be reminded that in my court I’m the one who decides who gets a second chance. That said, Mr. Hoat, instruct your client to take the stand.”

Roose shot Hoat a nasty look before he stood up.

“I’m sure you can’t wait to be off the stand, Mr. Bolton,” Barristan told him after he was sitting down. “But I have more questions.”

“If you must,” Roose sounded bored.

“Yesterday, just before Mr. Lannister was compelled to defend his wife’s honor—”

“Objection,” Hoat snarled.

Clegane growled at Barristan, “Stick to questioning, Mr. Selmy.”

“Just before certain comments were made by you regarding Mrs. Lannister, we were talking about some of your former employees. Now, Walda Frey is off the table. But Mrs. Lannister and your son’s latest nanny, a Miss Osha Wilde, are the women I wish to discuss with you.”

Roose rolled his eyes. Barristan, unperturbed, proceeded, addressing the jury.

“Due to the NDA Miss Frey signed, anything that is directly connected to her will no longer be mentioned. However, Mrs. Lannister and Miss Wilde are not bound by such a contract. For the jury’s reference, I’d like to introduce Exhibit D.” Barristan went to the table and opened his briefcase. On an easel stand, he mounted a photo.

Brienne looked away. It was a photo of a woman’s breasts. Her left nipple was bleeding. But they weren’t hers. Then he reached into his briefcase again for another photo, and put it on another stand. Brienne bit her lip. It was a photo of her breasts. Her left nipple was also bleeding in it. She felt her nipple throb in memory of that night. She took a deep breath, forming a tent with her hands and resting her forehead on it. She had been warned about reliving that night without warning. Bile thickened in her throat as Roose’s hands seemed to be all over her again. Teeth biting on her nipple. His cold fingers inside her like blades. As tears gathered in her eyes, her mind conjured up a memory of Jaime. Jaime holding her. His green eyes warm and kind as they looked at her. She raised her head from the tent of her hands, concentrating on the memory of his warmth at her back as they slept, his arm around her waist protecting her from nightmares.

“Will you kindly describe to the jury what you see, Mr. Bolton?”

“Objection! Mr. Bolton is not a doctor nor a medical practitioner of any kind!” Hoat yelled.

“I was merely asking him to describe the photos, Your Honor, not make a medical assessment or provide an expert medical opinion.” Barristan said smoothly.

“Proceed, Mr. Selmy. Mr. Hoat, I’m not deaf.”

Hoat grumbled under his breath and slumped back in his seat.

“I don’t know. Women’s breasts.” Roose sounded pissed.

“What about their breasts, Mr. Bolton?”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

“Exactly what do you want me to say?” Roose demanded.

“Answer the question, Mr. Bolton,” Clegane snapped.

Brienne dared herself to look at Roose. His pale eyes glittered and a small sinister smile lurked at the corners of his lips.

“There’s blood.” He spoke as if to savor the last word. Brienne took a deep breath.

“Where’s the blood?”

“The left nipple.”

Despite the distance, Roose stared at Brienne’s breasts. She refused to look away, glaring back at him defiantly.

“These are photos of two women who were under your employ. Mrs. Lannister,” Barristan said, pointing with a stick at the photo on the left, then on the right, “And Miss Wilde. This photo of Mrs. Lannister was taken the night of her sexual assault. The one of Miss Wilde’s was from the afternoon your son attacked her. Five weeks after Miss Tarth’s assault.”

“Objection,” Hoat interjected. “there is no proof of the assault allegedly committed by my client.”

“Sustained.”

Barristan nodded. “Alright. Mr. Bolton, you were asked to submit a DNA simple to compare the DNA found on Mrs. Lannister. They match.”

Roose’s jaw was set. “I did mention to the court that the former Miss Tarth liked it rough.”

“Oh, yes. Your explanation for her injury,” Barristan turned briefly to the jury before looking back at him. “Now, for the information of the ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the photo of Miss Wilde, and her injury, is a result of her attack by Mr. Bolton’s son, Ramsay. Clearly Mr. Bolton did not do it as the DNA retrieved from her doesn’t match his. But if you notice the nature of the injury—”

“Objection,” Hoat declared.

“Mr. Selmy,” Clegane warned him. “Speculation on another case is not allowed in my court.”

“The nature of these injuries is similar, Your Honor, although committed by different persons.”

“How does this further your argument?”

“I intend to prove that this is a pattern of Mr. Bolton’s. One that has been absorbed and now imitated by his son. For isn’t this the reason why your son is with Child Protection Services, Mr. Bolton?”

“Objection.” Hoat protested.

“Sustained,” Clegane declared.

Barristan was unfazed. “How often do you spend time with your son, Mr. Bolton?”

“Not as much as I’d like, regrettably.”

“Yet he hurt his nanny in a similar manner to what you did with Mrs. Lannister.”

“Objection!”

“Sustained. I’m warning you, Mr. Selmy!” Clegane didn’t sound pleased.

Barristan continued. “When you say you don’t spend much time with Ramsay, Mr. Bolton, could you tell us here in court how many times in a month you see him?”

Roose’s eyes were cold. “I don’t keep a journal listing how frequently I’m with my son, Mr. Selmy. But I can assure you and the court that he gets the best care and guidance when I’m not around.”

“And the photo of Miss Wilde is a good example of that care, would you say?”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

“Where would Ramsay get the idea of doing this,” Barristan he tapped the photo with the stick, “to a person, Mr. Bolton?”

“Objection! This has nothing to do with the case!”

“I’ll allow it,” Clegane announced. “Answer the question, Mr. Bolton.”

“The internet. TV.  Who knows? I’m a busy man, regrettably. I entrust my son to the care of individuals who must shape him into a decent human being.”

“You believe it’s people you hire who are in charge of making sure Ramsay, your son, grows into a decent human being, not you?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Why don’t you enlighten us?”

“It’s simple. When I’m not there, people I trust and hired to take care of my son take over. When I’m home, it’s my turn. That’s it.”

“How often are you at home, Mr. Bolton? Like in a month?”

Ramsay shrugged. “Often enough.”

“You’ll have to give us a specific number, sir.”

Hoat shot to his feet. “What’s the point of this questioning? From asking my client to talk about injuries he knows nothing about and now to how often he spends time with his son?”

“Sit down, Mr. Hoat,” Clegane ordered. “Mr. Selmy, get to the point.”

“I’m trying to establish just how much time Mr. Bolton spends with his son for him to become a decent human being, as he says,” Barristan answered. Turning to the jury, he spread his arms in apology, “If you will bear with me, please. So,” he turned back to Roose. “Mr. Bolton?”

“I’m home every two weeks,” he said.

Barristan nodded and went to his briefcase. He pulled out a folder. “This information was obtained under a search warrant of your residence and your office, Mr. Bolton. According to here,” he said, opening it and rifling through the papers, “You’re out of the country nine months out of a year. And when you are in the country, you spend two months in Dreadfort, in Last Hearth, Winterfell. You are in King City, where your son lives, one month out of twelve.” He held it up. “Your Honor, I’d like to submit Exhibit E. These are summaries as well as copies of Mr. Bolton’s travels from the present year going back to two years.” He handed them to the judge.

“I’m a busy man, Mr. Selmy. I have a legacy to take care of. Over a thousand people rely on me for their jobs.” Roose said.

“How do you teach your son to be a decent human being in a month, Mr. Bolton?” Barristan asked. He pointed at the photo of Osha’s breasts. “Is this what you teach him for one month?’

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

“I have no further questions.” Barristan took his seat next to Brienne.

Hoat got up from his seat. “Mr. Bolton, what school does your son attend?”

“Dayne Preparatory.” Bolton answered stiffly. He was still glaring at Barristan.

“Dayne Prep,” Hoat said the name with reverence. “The best private school in Westeros, if I’m not mistaken.”

“They have high standards, yes.”

“How old is Ramsay?”

“He’s ten.”

“Ten years old. What grade?”

“He’s in the sixth grade.”

“Sixth grade. How come?”

“He skipped a year due to excellent academic standing.”

Hoat faced the jury. “And we can say, on his way to being a decent person.”

“He’s my son. Of course he is.”

“That’s all, Mr. Bolton. I have no more questions.”

“You may step down, Mr. Bolton,” Clegane told him.  To Barristan, he said, “Your next witness.”

“I’d like to call young Mr. Ramsay Bolton on the stand.”

Brienne heard the doors open. She looked at Barristan, concern in her eyes. But he shook his head.

“He’s a key witness, Brienne.”

“He’s a child.”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

Brienne couldn’t bear to look as Ramsay was led to the stand. She knew that father and son had not seen each other since the boy was taken away by Child Protection Services.

Yet, for a child who hadn’t seen his father for months, Ramsay only gave him a smile. He looked surprised but didn’t greet him or acknowledged him anymore than this.

Ramsay was made to swear on the Book of the Seven, raising his hand and stating his complete name, age and address. As he spoke, his pale blue eyes darted from one face to the next before settling on Brienne. He frowned.

Then shot her a look of pure hatred.

Brienne was stunned. She had never expected anyone, let alone a child, to look at her as he had. Barristan must have noticed it too because he glanced at her then Ramsay.

She should have known it was a portent of things to come.

 

 

 

*****

Ramsay Bolton’s testimony was. . .sickening.

To say the least.

Jaime wondered if he was the only one who thought that Ramsay was shooting Brienne dagger looks. He was a child, and from what Roose said, smart. But there was something in his eyes. An emptiness. When he smiled, and it was often, it didn’t reach his eyes.

He willed Brienne to look at him. Wanted to give her a smile or a look of reassurance. But she remained stubbornly facing forward and immobile. He could reach out and touch her on the shoulder but worried about distracting her.

“My Dad is often away but it’s always special when he’s home,” Ramsay was telling Barristan.

“Oh? Why, what makes time with him special?”

“We go camping. Sometimes we stay at home and watch cartoons.”

“What do you do when camping?”

“We hunt. Bears. Wolves. Dad taught me how to stalk and shoot. He said I should always go for between the eyes. And I should shoot baby animals because they’re not as fast.”

“Your father has taught you a lot of things,” Barristan remarked. “Which is your favorite?”

“The hunting.”

“Anything your father taught you that you don’t like?”

“Objection!”

“Your Honor, surely there are things children don’t like that their parents teach them,” Barristan was all about smooth, evasive maneuvers. “Like cleaning your room. Having to do the dishes.”

“Overruled, Mr. Hoat,” Clegane told him.

“Go on, Ramsay,” Barristan coaxed him. “Is there anything you learned from your father that you don’t like?”

Ramsay shrugged. “Yeah.

“Care to share?””

“But he makes me learn some really uncool stuff.” He sounded sullen.

Barristan smiled gently. “What are these ‘uncool stuff?’”

Ramsay crossed his arms and glared at Brienne. “He made me learn the cello. I hate it!”

“Did he tell you why you must learn the cello?”

“Objection,” Hoat interjected.

“Overruled,” Clegane snapped. “Continue.”

“Do you remember why your father wanted you to learn the cello, Ramsay?”Barristan asked.

“He said it’s to help out a friend. And she’s innocent. That I’ll have to learn to play the cello.” Ramsay said, pouting. “I told him no but Dad said he liked her and she’s innocent.”

The courtroom was suddenly silent.

“Your father liked. . .who, exactly?”

“Brienne.” Ramsay nodded at her. “Dad said she needs help. And she’s innocent.”

“Why does your Dad keep saying she’s innocent?”

“Objection.” Hoat said.

“Sustained.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Barristan offered. “Did your father tell you why you must help Brienne?”

“She’s a friend. He said she’s nice.” Ramsay shook his head. “She made me practice and practice. I told her I didn’t like her and hated her. I called her ugly and she made me practice more. I told Dad I didn’t like her, but he said she’s a friend.”

“A friend. And innocent.”

Ramsay kept talking. “She’s not his friend. I have friends. I have a friend. A girl. Her name is Myranda. We’re not friends like Daddy says he and Brienne are.”

Another wave of silence.

Jaime saw Roose urgently whispering to Vargo Hoat. He shot to his feet. “We call for a recess.”

“I think not. The court would like to know what Mr. Bolton means by his father not being friends with Mrs. Lannister in the way he thinks.” Barristan pointed out.

“Permission to approach, Your Honor?” Hoat demanded.

Clegane bade them to come forward. Barristan arrived first, moving agilely despite having twenty years on Hoat. Brienne watched the tensed, hushed conversation. Behind her, she heard a shuffle. She looked up and saw Jaime standing beside her, hand reaching for her shoulder. She was quick to take it, needing the comforting press of his skin on her. He just gave her a curious look as her clammy fingers finger wrapped around him. She kissed his palm and held it to her face.

“Everything will be okay,” he whispered as she stared at him. His emerald eyes showed concern.

She nodded.

Then Judge Clegane banged his gavel. Even before he announced that the trial will continue, Hoat’s sour expression was telling enough. Barristan’s remained calm and confident.

Jaime squeezed Brienne’s hand then returned to his seat. Feeling alone, she clasped her hands together, keeping the warmth his touch had left on her. When Barristan spoke, she looked up.

Then she noticed Roose staring at her. Hoat was taking down notes so he didn’t notice his client’s behavior. Brienne glared back at him, refusing to be intimidated anymore. Roose gave her another look before looking away.

She let out a breath. Cold sweat poured down her spine, down her armpits. She squeezed her hands together and focused on Barristan’s voice.

“Are you alright, Ramsay?” He asked the boy.

Ramsay nodded. “Yes, sir. I am.”

“Now, when you’re not feeling well, you only have to say so and I will ask the judge for a recess,” he said, smiling at him gently.

Ramsay looked pleased. “I will.”

“Good. Now let’s continue. You mentioned just a short while ago that you have a friend named Myranda. Could you tell us about her?”

“She’s in my class,” Ramsay offered. “She has stuffed dead animals in her house. She says her Daddy is tax---tax---taxdermy something,” he flushed, frustration on his face at not getting word right.

“A taxidermist?” Barristan asked.

“Is that what you call a person who puts stuff in dead animals?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what he does. It’s cool.”

“So you have similar interests, then?” When Ramsay looked confused, Barristan smiled again and said, “You mentioned you liked to hunt.”

“Yeah. She says she sometimes helps her Dad. One time I helped them too.” Ramsay’s eyes sparkled.

“How did you find it? Helping them?”

“Really cool. Sometimes it’s gross but it’s fun. Not like those stupid cello lessons.” Before Barristan could speak again, Ramsay said, “I really like being with Myranda. She knows all this awesome stuff like tax—taxidermy. And she thinks the cello is stupid. I told her my Dad made me ‘cuz he wants to help out Brienne.”

“Now, Ramsay, earlier, you said that you’re friends with Myranda, unlike the way your Dad is friends with Brienne. What do you mean by that?”

“Objection,” Hoat said.

“I’ll re-phrase. Why are you and Myranda friends?”

“We have fun,” Ramsay answered. “And I don’t make her cry.”

Brienne tensed. A frown crossed her face.

“Why do you say that, Ramsay?”

“Objection!”

“Sustained,” Judge Clegane said.

Barristan muttered under his breath then said, “Have you seen Brienne crying?”

“Yes. That night Daddy had all these people over. I was in my room—”

“Objection!”  This time Hoat practically jumped from his seat, as did Roose. “Your Honor, we demand a recess!”

“Again?” Barristan shot back, giving him a nasty look. “You asked that ten minutes ago. You didn’t make a good case for it.”

“Sit down, Mr. Hoat. The court shall strike Mr. Selmy’s comments from records.” Clegane ordered. He turned to Ramsay and said calmly, “Young man. If you could answer Mr. Selmy’s question.”

For the first time since taking the stand, Ramsay looked unsure. Roose saw this and yelled, “You’re not going to force my son—”

“Muzzle your client, Mr. Hoat!” Clegane was getting flushed. “Another word from you, Mr. Bolton, and you will be physically removed from this court and held in contempt. Do you understand me?”

Roose’s glare was murderous as Hoat pushed him back on his seat.

Clegane wasn’t done. “Do you understand, Mr. Bolton?”

Hoat nudged at him and Roose answered with gritted teeth. “Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Clegane turned to Barristan. “You may continue.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Now, Ramsay, you mentioned that you saw Brienne cry? Do you see her in this room?”

“Yes.” Ramsay pointed at Brienne. “That’s her. She was crying. Daddy hit her and she fell. You don’t do that to a friend.”

 

******* 

With the drain plugged, the sink was quick to fill with water. Brienne took a deep breath and plunged her face into the cold pool. She held her breath pulled out. She yanked paper towels from the dispenser and patted her face dry. 

The mirror was not kind. All the color had been drained from her face, leaving only shadowed blue eyes and lips so pale they were almost gray. Her mind and body had been experiencing riotous turns of emotions all day and it showed.

From last night’s bliss that went beyond Seven Heavens, she now felt as if she’d been through war. Inside-out she’d been turned, yanked, pulled, stuffed, beaten, drained. She closed her eyes, aiming to find some quiet even for only a few seconds.

_Ramsay had seen everything._

Everything.

Every word he said, she felt. Roose hitting her on the jaw. Pummeling her on the stomach next. Falling on the floor headfirst. She had been terrified as she saw these happening, as if she had stepped out of her body and could only watch as Roose forced a kiss on her while ripping off her clothes. Her weak, watery pleas begging him to stop as his fingers stabbed her cunt.. Her cry of pain as his teeth pulled viciously at her nipple.

_“Then a man came and he was hitting Daddy. I wanted to yell. I don’t like Brienne but Daddy hurt her. There was blood.”_

Brienne stopped listening as Barristan continued asking him questions. Ramsay’s voice got smaller and smaller and at some point, the boy left the stand. Some of the words from the closing arguments drifted to her and she couldn’t really make them out. The faces around her were a blur.

She wished for it to end. She wanted to see Jaime, drown in his emerald eyes and never leave his arms.

She only snapped back into the room when Judge Clegane banged the gavel. Barristan went to Brienne and told her the next time they were at court, it was to hear the verdict.

She fixed her hair and left the bathroom. She stopped when she saw Jaime waiting for her outside.

He looked grim. “You look like hell.”

“I feel worse,” she admitted.

She fell in his arms, her chin finding a home on his shoulder, Jaime rubbed her back, held her. She hugged him back, grateful that she wasn’t alone.

“Do you need to eat?” Jaime asked, setting her away from him but keeping his arms around her waist. He was still looking at her worriedly. “Is there anything I can get you?”

She shook her head. Food would make her throw up now.

“You look as white as these walls,” he said as they walked. “You don’t feel faint?”

“Just hold me, please.”

He brought her out into the main hall of the courthouse. Sansa, Olenna and Bronn were sitting on a bench. Bronn got up and offered her a seat and she gave him a wan smile. His gray eyes looked at her with concern too. A silent look passed between him, and Jaime then he left.

Jaime kept an arm around Brienne’s shoulders as they spoke with Sansa and Olenna. She appreciated that they weren’t talking about the case and Olenna thought they should all go out for a nice meal after this. She squeezed Brienne’s hand, making the younger woman laugh as she declared that she needed a good steak and a large heaping of apple pie.

When Bronn returned, he held a can of soda and a small bag of potato chips. Brienne looked at Jaime with mild exasperation but understood. Had it been Jaime to get her these, she would refuse. Because it was Bronn, she wouldn’t. She smiled at Bronn and thanked him. The soda was ice-cold. From the slight smile on Jaime’s lips, she looked a little better.

Bronn showed the latest sonogram of his baby. As everyone gushed over it, Jaime pulled Brienne close. She leaned against his shoulder, nuzzling against him, breathing deeply at his fresh, clean and spicy scent. Sansa asked Bronn if they already had names for his baby girl.

“We’re thinking Ada Belle,” he answered. “Lollys came up with it herself.”

“It sounds perfect,” Jaime told him.

Later, Brienne excused herself to dispose of the food wrappers. She turned around to go back and nearly bumped into Jaime. Without a word, he took her hand and pulled her to the side. People walked past but no one took a turn toward them. They were standing next to a door.

“Tell me the truth, Brienne. How are you?”

Brienne looked at their joined hands then him. “I’m scared.”

“Come here.”

Again, he was there to catch her in his arms. He held her tightly as she bit on his shoulder, wanting to silence the anguished cries that had been wanting to tear out of her. The effort caused her to tremble in his arms. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, caressing her back, dropping kisses on the arc between her neck and shoulder. She clung even more, closing her eyes.

Jaime’s kisses were gentle, more to comfort than to arouse. But Brienne turned her head and took one for her lips, and another. The wall was cold on her back, as cold as she was feeling inside but the fire of his kisses made them melt.

He pulled away and she shook her head, yanking him roughly back to her. A teasing smile, then he was gesturing at the door.

It was an empty room with a wodden table and two simple chairs. Their lips met again. Desire was extinguishing the last vestiges of fear in her soul. She sat on the desk, spreading her legs to fit him between them. She pulled one his hands from her face to push it between her legs. His kisses faltered, but only for a moment. Then his mouth slammed on hers as his fingers probed through her curls, her slit. _There._ She must never forget that she had been touched like this with love more than with violence.

Their foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling. They watched as Jaime’s fingers stroked her, the digits getting shinier with each pass. Then Brienne took his face in her hands and kissed him.

He pulled the panties off her just far enough to bare her cunt and open her. Her shaking fingers fumbled with his zipper, pulling his cock out of his boxers to rub before wrapping her legs around him. Neither noticed the scrap of cotton hanging off her right ankle. Smoldering gazes, ravenous kisses, joining—they were all that mattered in this moment.

Her gasp was a sharp but quiet sound against his tongue. He held her as her body stiffened, his hips never missing a beat. With her release softening into embers, her mouth could only summon weak, half-kisses that were still potent enough to make Jaime harder. He scooped her up from the desk as he fucked her, eyes closing as he surrendered at last to the strangling grip of her cunt.

She shook when he slipped to his knees, kissing her cunt gently before wiping the mess clean with a handkerchief. He straightened up, her mussed, flushed lion. His face told her he understood and. she had to kiss him for that, for always being there, for protecting her. His fingers plucked the panties off her ankle to stash them inside his jacket pocket. Color returned to her cheeks.

“You will never be hurt again,” he whispered before claiming her lips again.

They returned to their friends. Barristan Selmy was with them. He looked a little annoyed.

“We’ve been looking for you. The jury is back.”

“Sorry.” They said together.

Eyes rested on Brienne’s red face. Jaime’s arm tightened protectively around her waist. “I thought we’d go out for some air. It was stifling in here.” He said.

People were filing back in the courtroom. To Brienne’s surprise, Margaery and Tyrion were already there. Brienne looked at Jaime before turning her attention back to them.

_All these people have come for her._

Jaime squeezed her hand, prompting her to look at him. When she did, he kissed her.

“I’m with you,” he told her. “Never forget that. Promise me.”

“I do,” she answered, looking in his eyes. She stood up straight. “I promise. _I know_ , Jaime.”

He kissed her again then she pulled away with great reluctance.

Barristan Selmy glanced at her as she sat down. Her cheeks warming again, she mumbled, “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“You did look like you needed air, Brienne,” he admitted. “I thought you were going to faint earlier. Are you okay now?”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

Barristan glanced in the direction of Roose Bolton and Vargo Hoat. “He’ll get what he deserves, Brienne.”

“But Ramsay…”

“You can’t worry about him. It’s unfortunate that the boy has Roose for a father, but he’s not my concern.”

Judge Clegane took his seat and the court got quiet. He turned to the jury.

“Will the jury foreperson please stand?” He asked.

A lean, dark-haired young man stood up. He looked strong, given his wide chest and arms. “Has the jury reached the verdict?” Clegane continued.

“We have, Your Honor.”

A clerk approached and was handed a piece of paper by the foreperson, which was then handed to Judge Clegane. He glanced at it then gave it back to the clerk, who returned it to the jury foreperson.

“What say you?”

Brienne didn’t realize she was gripping the edge of the table until she heard her nail chipped. As she flinched, the foreperson unfolded the paper and read from it.

“On the charge of aggravated and felonious sexual assault, we find the defendant.” He looked up and stared at Roose Bolton.

“Guilty.”


	2. Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts and a confession.

It was like discovering air for the first time. Brienne buried her face in her hands, playing the word over and over: _Guilty. Guilty. Guilty_. She barely felt Barristan putting a hand on her shoulder and telling her he had fulfilled his promise. She straightened up, nodding. Someone must have pulled her up from her seat. Different arms wrapped around her, different fragrances surrounded her. Sansa hugging her tightly brought her back to the present and Brienne couldn’t help but cry. Sansa thumbed her tears away, smiling, her eyes shimmering with tears too.

“You were so brave,” Sansa whispered before kissing her on the cheek. Then they were hugging again, rocking in each other’s arms.

By the time Jaime was holding her, Brienne was leaning heavily against him. His strength never wavered, not once did he try pushing her a little away. He held her like he wasn’t letting go. She hoped this would be the case.

Everyone was still talking. As Brienne learned for the first time that it was okay for someone to be strong for two people, Jaime asked what she would like to do. Where would she like to go?

She glanced at Margaery and Tyrion holding hands as they spoke with Olenna, Bronn and Sansa. “Olenna said we can go out for dinner.”

“Is that what you’d like?”

“I don’t know. But I know we should celebrate. I just don’t. . .I’m not sure if I’m up for going out.” She blushed. “I’d rather be in sweats and sleep until the next century.”

“And deprive me of your eyes?” Jaime teased her. His eyes warmed as her blush got more vivid. “How’s this. I’ll have dinner catered. Back at the loft. We won’t have to do anything. But let’s invite Lollys, of course, and Ned and Catelyn Stark.”

“Really? But Jaime, we don’t have to do this right away.”

“I know. But people are in a celebratory mood. You don’t have to do anything—”

“But you need rest too—”

He cut off her protest with a kiss. She was quick to clutch at the collar of his shirt, crushing the fine fabric. “I want to do this. I’ll take care of everything,” he said, grinning as she blinked at him.

She had to laugh. How can she forget that when Jaime put his mind to something, it got done? “Alright.”

So Jaime announced that there would be dinner at their loft tonight at eight o’clock. People wouldn’t have to bring anything, just their appetites. Everyone whooped in approval.

As they headed out of the courtroom, Olenna linked her arm through Brienne’s. Her hazel eyes glowed as she looked at the younger woman.

“You’re already looking better, my dear,” she remarked as they walked. “I’m so proud of you for standing up to that bastard.”

Brienne bowed her head. “I wouldn’t have if not for what Jaime gave me.”

“Yes. The boy helped.” It was amusing for Jaime to be referred to as boy. He was thirty-eight years old. “But in the end,” she said, taking Brienne’s hand in hers, “you chose to fight, Brienne. Whatever name you have, no matter how much money you have, or friends and family, if you don’t choose to fight, the monster wins.”

Brienne was touched. “I’ve missed going to your place, Olenna.”

“Me too, dear. But you shouldn’t ever think of replacing your husband with my company,” Olenna teased her. Her smile was knowing as she looked at Jaime. He was surrounded by people now. “A handsome one, your man. He clearly cares about you.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. Sensing he was being stared at, Jaime smiled at her. She bowed her head then raised her eyes. He was still looking at her. It prompted an embarrassed smile from her. He seemed satisfied because he winked then turned to Margaery to listen at what she was saying.

Does he? Brienne wondered, pondering on Olenna’s comment. Last night, she felt. . .no, she was sure that Jaime loved her. He had trusted her with his darkest secrets, had seen her at her weakest and worst. Yes, he helped her. Married her so she would have the power of his name and all that it entailed. Yet. . .

It was hurting her heart, hoping.

But she must. She did.

“I’ve always laughed at the idea of anything romantic. Silly, wish-washy yearnings perpetrated by ridiculous songs and those silly novels and fairy tales,” Olenna continued. “But with the way the Lannister boy put himself out for you. Reminds me of the tale of the one-handed knight who rescued a maiden from a bear.”

Every kid who grew up in Westeros knew of that table. Brienne never believed in fairy tales. They were pretty stories meant to give one hope in this world.

No. Their story was nothing like a fairy tale. Not even close. Jaime did what he did because he believed it was the right thing to do. He had no inclination to be a hero or a knight.

“Fairy tales don’t tell you what happened after the maiden was rescued,” she pointed out. “Maybe the maiden was pissed because the knight put himself in danger given his condition. She could have handled herself.”

“But what matters is he still helped her. Rescued her when no one else did. Oh, for such a man to be real,” Olenna mused.

Jaime and Brienne took a cab home. Once past the door, Jaime picked up the phone to start making calls. Brienne offered to help but he shooed her away, covering the mouthpiece and urging her to rest.

In their room, Brienne unzipped her dress. Her panties were still in Jaime’s jacket. Naked, she went to the hamper and found his used, plain white t-shirt. It smelled faintly of his sweat and cologne but not unpleasant. She took a deep whiff before putting it on.

She was under the sheets when Jaime went to the room. The shuffle of his clothes told her he was removing them. Then he was in bed with her, an arm sliding around her waist to pull her to the warm wall of his chest. She turned, opening her eyes.

“You should be resting,” he scolded her gently. As he spoke, his hand lowered, palming her buttocks. He smiled as her eyelashes fluttered at him, color spreading across her face.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. They’ll start setting up at six.” He drew her closer until his erection pressed against her stomach.  He closed his eyes. “Try to sleep, Brienne. You’ve earned it.”

Blood pounded in Brienne’s head. Yes, she was tired. Heavy weights pressed her eyes. But she was warm. Her cunt was aching. As it bloomed to a burning emptiness, her heart beat erratically. She wanted to put everything behind her. She needed her husband.

Her rapid breathing made him open his eyes, just in time to see her hand reach under the sheets for his cock. He didn’t stop her. Instead his hips thrust against her hand.

“I need you so much,” she confessed, resigned to this want for Jaime that grew after every time they fucked. Every time he fucked her, she was reminded of the times when he wasn’t. Her lower lip trembled as he stared back at her. Emeralds slowly darkened to the color of the forest with every stroke of her hand. The flesh of his cock was stretched taut. Velvet over Valyrian steel.

“I’m here,” he grunted against her lips.

“Please say you want to,” she pleaded, pausing in touching him.

Jaime’s answer was to seize her face and kiss her mouth. Her sigh shook against his tongue as they kissed, mouths sparring gently and wide. He drew her over him so she had to throw her leg over his hips. His arms were tight around her waist. His cock throbbed against her stomach.

She straightened up, hair in her face, her eyes seeking him through the snarls. He pressed his palm on her hot cheek and she kissed it, fully but too quickly. Then she took his cock again. A sharp wince took over her face as she struggled to get him inside her. A pink flush spread across her chest but Jaime held her hips, stilling her. He looked like a man caught between heavens and hells.

“There’s no need to rush, wench,” he groaned. Something stirred in her as he called her with that old nickname. “We have all the time in the world.”

“But I want you _now_ ,” she tried to protest before he was tugging her down and taking another kiss from her mouth.

Jaime caught her, locked his leg around her hip then brought her flat on her back on the bed. She gasped but it was of surprise. He kissed her again.

“All the time in the world, Brienne,” he repeated. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“What happens when you do?”

Her smile was a mix of anticipation and delight. She lay fully on her back, stacking her hands under her head and spreading her legs. “Maybe I need reminding.” Her flirtatious reply brought a twinkle in his emeralds. “A _lot_ of reminding.”

“I’ll take my time, then” he drawled just before getting to work.

 

 

Jaime had never hosted an event by himself before. Always it was Margaery and somebody from the museum organizing it and he only had to show up, with much resistance. He complained about having to be in a monkey suit and making nice with buyers and sponsors, annoying Margaery. Tyrion would have to literally step between them, yelling at Jaime for not appreciating his wife’s efforts and threatening to castrate him if he couldn’t be pleasant for one fucking hour.

This time, pleasantries were no trouble. Brienne was at his side, blushing and fumbling with words despite the company of old friends. It was sweet how she tried to be cool and elegant, but that wasn’t his wife. He wouldn’t change one damn thing about her.

While the caterers were setting up downstairs, Jaime and Brienne were in their walk-in closet. Supposedly, they were getting ready. But now that they didn’t have the case hanging over them like the most unwelcome specter, his hunger for his wife was insatiable. They were fucking against the wall, Jaime grinning at the alternating expressions of surprise and shock on Brienne’s face when the doorbell rang. He had to drag her from the wall and put her on the floor, unleashing hungry kisses on her mouth and throat, plucking at her swollen nipples while his cock pounded inside her greedy tight cunt so they would come hard and fast. He had to help her into a robe while he yanked on a t-shirt over his dress pants to get the door.

Olenna and Sansa were the first to arrive, ten minutes before everyone was expected. Olenna frowned at Jaime’s t-shirt before she strutted ahead of Sansa. The women had boxes and bags from an expensive boutique.

“You’ll have to get ready elsewhere, young man,” Olenna declared, looking sharply at the catering staff before nodding at the stairs. “I assume Brienne is in the bedroom?”

Without waiting for his reply, she climbed up. Sansa at least offered to take his suit to him but it was important he didn’t peek in at what they were doing. Jaime had to bite back a smile at Brienne having to deal with her friends while her thighs were still wet with his semen.

So he got dressed in the bathroom, putting on the rest of the suit Sansa brought to him. Tyrion and Margaery arrived next, shortly followed by Bronn and Lollys. She was six months pregnant and though her eyes were tired, her smile was warm as she hugged Jaime. Though her eyes were tired, her smile was warm and friendly as she hugged Jaime. She took his hand and let him feel her daughter kicking.

Ned and Catelyn Stark were the last to arrive. Sansa introduced her parents to Jaime. The Starks and Lannisters didn’t exactly move in the same circles but they had heard of each other.

Ned, with his dark hair, gray eyes and grim face, looked like the bearer of bad news. He was thick-figured but not fat—there was no softness in the man. Catelyn had auburn hair and clear, blue-gray eyes. Despite her age, her classic features still made her a quite beautiful and arresting woman. Sansa took after her.

Halfway through the expected pleasantries, Olenna brought Brienne down the stairs. Jaime swallowed hard at the sight of his wife.

Beside him was Bronn. He too was looking at Brienne smiling and blushing as people greeted her. “Exactly the type you’d fuck, isn’t she?” He whispered.

Brienne’s pale hair was a soft tousled around her cheeks. Black eyeliner highlighted the intense blueness of her eyes, and her lipstick was vivid red. Her full lips and wide mouth looked like a rose in bloom.

She was wearing a black pantsuit. It was sleeveless with a high neckline, and flowing pants that just about skimmed the floor if not for her heels. He caught her eye and smiled. Brienne blushed and turned away to listen to something Margaery was saying to her. When she did, she revealed that her suit had left out the entire back.

Seven bloody hells. He was going to come just seeing the wild splash of freckles on her back.

“Talk about my wife like that again,” he told Bronn although his strained voice removed what venom his delivery was supposed to have, “and I’ll knock your teeth out.”

Unfazed, Bronn retorted, “It’s a compliment.”

Jaime went to Brienne’s side. He couldn’t resist pressing a kiss on her shoulder before looking up at her. In her feels, the top of his head brushed her chin. He was proud to be at her side. His arm went around her waist while his hand took hers to his lips. The pink and red spreading across her face down to her chest, her darkening eyes made him wash for canvas and paint.

“You look sensational,” he whispered to her. Another rush of red swept through her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered back.

Margaery, in her usual, take-charge way, oversaw the caterers. Tyrion was at her side as she directed them, a besotted look on his face. Jaime would laugh but he was sure to be wearing an identical expression. When his brother and his wife rejoined the crowd, he saw Tyrion tug at Margaery’s hand. She bent to him. From the big smile on her face, either Tyrion had told her something sweet but romantic or very inappropriate but romantic. What did he know about these things? But Margaery kissed Tyrion and giggled.

“Jaime?” Brienne was talking to him. He quickly turned to her.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “My mind was elsewhere. What were you saying?”

“I was going to ask about Tywin?” She bit her lower lip.

Jaime looked at their hands.

Tywin had nothing against Brienne. Of this he was sure about. But the old lion didn’t want to contribute to the media circus surrounding the trial already. They’ve been leaving the courthouse through back exits to avoid reporters. With the guilty verdict now out, it was only a matter of time before reporters started camping out of their doorway again. Jaime’s address and phone number were unlisted although it was just a matter of time. Brienne’s studio was still being besieged by the nosy press, according to Olenna.

Tywin had a good reason to be not there but Jaime couldn’t just accept it. His wife, a complete innocent, had been dragged through shit and all Seven Hells. Tywin’s presence would have done so much.

His father’s absence at crucial moments shouldn’t be surprise anymore. He may have been in the house that summer following Joanna’s death but made it clear he was unavailable. There was no good excuse for why Jaime and Cersei turned to each other the way they had but if Tywin had just opened the door, maybe things would be different. Hugely different.

But he wasn’t there when Jaime hit rock bottom. It was Tyrion and Margaery. When he tried to get back on his feet, it was his brother again, his friends. When Jaime confessed committing incest with Cersei after her death, Tywin had not wanted to hear a word of it.

Jaime hugged Brienne to his side. “He couldn’t be here.” He was never asked but what was the point when he knew the answer?

Brienne seemed to accept his answer because she said nothing more. He was thinking about kissing her, of maybe smudging her lipstick a little, when she turned those brilliant eyes on him and said, “We should see him one of these days. It’s been a while.”

He rubbed her back. Her skin was so soft. It was making hard and breathe faster. “You’re sure?”

She shrugged. “He scares me but we must still see him.”

Jaime kissed her. At last. But it was over too fast. “How can you still be afraid of Tywin Lannsiter after everything, my sweetheart wench?”

She blushed at his endearment. He kissed her again, this time on the cheek.

“You’re a lot braver than you give yourself credit for,” he told her sincerely.

“It’s because of you,” she was quick to say.

“I nudged and pushed you. You did the rest.”

“You married me.”

They looked at each other silently.

“Yes,” he said, his voice catching. “I did.”

Brienne looked like she was about to say something when Margaery suddenly started clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Dinner is served, everybody!”

 

Group gatherings, no matter the size, tired Brienne. After the dessert, people still hung around. She didn’t mind as she understood they needed to unwind just as much as she did. But her fingers were itching and she was restless.

Jaime couldn’t keep his hands off her all night. If they were not holding hands under the table during the meal, he was touching her knee, her cheek. An arm around her waist. Lips on her shoulder. She felt like stoked fire, coaxed to burn brighter and hotter. What she would give to pull her husband between her legs and feel him inside her again.

But she hadn’t picked up the cello in weeks. It unsettled her. Her audition for the Marillion was in a month. There was a lot to catch up on. A lot.

Yet she let Jaime pull her to the bedroom while their guests mingled and chatted downstairs. Took his face in her hands and kissed him hungrily. Moaned wantonly as he fondled her tits through her top before his fingers reached for the bow at her nape to untie it. She shivered and held on to Jaime as he dragged a soft nipple between his lips.

Oh, gods. His mouth was just _heaven._

He indulged in kissing and licking her nipples before making his way up to her throat, the highest point he could reach because she was in heels. She pushed her fingers through his silky hair. She bent her head and kissed him on the lips.

“Jaime,” she said, reluctantly pulling away. “There’s something I have to do.”

He groaned and dropped his head on her shoulder. “What is it?”

“I need to get my cello,” she answered, breathing sharply because he had resumed feasting on her breasts. She smiled as he huffed and returned his head on her shoulder.

“Do you really have to?” He looked up at her. She felt herself clenching at the hunger on his face.

“I have to practice.”

He nodded and pulled away. She removed herself from the wall, picking up the top half of her suit that now hung loose down her hips. He had her turn around so he could secure the ties in a bow at her nape. Then she felt his lips on her shoulder.

“Don’t take too long,” he said against her skin, nibbling it. As she blushed, another kiss fell on her.  “Come back to me.”

She went with Margaery, Tyrion and Olenna. She walked Olenna to her apartment.

“Oh, how well you look in just a matter of hours,” Olenna said as Brienne helped her out of her coat. Her lined hand went up to touch Brienne’s cheek. “It’s nice to see you back, child.”

Brienne smiled, touching her hand. “You’ve always been there for me, Olenna. Thank you.” She gestured at her pantsuit. “And this. You really didn’t have to.” Olenna’s pension might be generous but her pockets were not as deep as expected of a Tyrell.

“But I wanted to.” Olenna said firmly. She smirked. “And I was right. Your lion couldn’t keep his paws off you.”

_Your lion. My lion. My husband. Jaime._

At Brienne’s blush, Olenna chuckled and kissed her on the cheek. “Good night dear. It was wonderful tonight. And you are just smashing in the suit.” She nodded. “You should wear more of this style. It suits you. But maybe something in blue, next time.” She whispered conspiratorially. “I wager there’s no getting your lion off you when you’re in blue.”

“Olenna!” Brienne protested, blushing heavily. Olenna’s titter followed her to the door.

She went to her apartment, flicking the lights on. It smelled a little musty. It must be more than a month since she was last here. The trial had battered her mentally and emotionally. For the first time in her life, she was not practicing her usual hours with the cello—or practicing at all. It wasn’t the lack of urgency but she couldn’t summon enough strength to even think of practicing.

The discipline was ingrained in her bones but the events—the assault, the trial—crushed the soul. Marrying Jaime was the one moment of peace in this storm.

He married her to give her the necessary power and money to beat Roose Bolton. That was always clear. They had not been intimate since the honeymoon and then. . .last night.

And today. Several times.

But more than the sex, of course, was how relentless Jaime was. Never leaving her side. Urging her to fight. Picking up pieces of herself and putting her back together. Trusting her about Cersei. Sharing with her the thoughts he never put into words before.

And in the midst of this mess, Brienne had given him her heart. She couldn’t tell when it happened. Much of their relationship she was still unsure about. But she was learning, day by the day, how it was to be with Jaime Lannister. He was a complicated man with serious baggage. Instead of running away, she had planted herself firmly at his side.

She opened her cello case. It was a new instrument. A wedding gift, according to Jaime, although he presented it to her weeks following that day. It was a commissioned instrument like the one Selwyn gave her, but better. She had grown a few inches since the day her father presented her the old blue cello.

The cello from Jaime was also blue. The body was longer and broader, so it was easier to hold it. The strings have been placed in such a way that her long fingers didn’t feel crowded or had to squish. She had not tried playing with it yet.

She pulled it out of the case.

It didn’t feel like a betrayal although she cast an apologetic look on the other cello case. It still hurt every time she saw the damage to the instrument. It was all she had of her father and Roose Bolton destroyed it.

Brienne took her bow from its case. Then she sat down on the loveseat, spread her legs. She cradled the cello between them. From memory, she started playing Two Swords.

She lost herself in the music. She stroked the bow across the strings, lingering on notes, striking them, drawing them out. The pads of her fingers pressed hard on the strings, tautening them as the bow slid across. The cello gently vibrated between her legs; at that moment, it was alive, warm from her body.

Halfway through the piece, she heard her phone ringing. She was slow to stop because she didn’t hear it immediately. When the full blast of the sound hit her, she left the cello leaning against the sofa. She picked up the phone.

“Don’t get mad. I’m not being a controlling husband here,” Jaime said as soon as she answered. She had to stifle her laugh. “But are you on your way back?”

“Sorry. I was playing,” she glanced at the cello. “I’ll pack up.”

“No, don’t.”

She froze. “Uh, why?”

“I’ll go there, if that’s alright. We can spend the night. I don’t want to interrupt your practice.”

“You don’t have to. I can go home. I only have to get the cello, call a cab—”

“Wench.” She almost purred at his voice calling her that. She blushed. “Keep practicing. I’ll be there shortly.”

She hung up. She kicked of her heels, groaning in pleasure at the relief spreading across her feet.

Jaime would take twenty minutes, so she used the time to wash the makeup from her face and shower. She still kept clothes, among them her favorite sleeping attire: a white t-shirt with a unicorn and gray baggy pajamas. She put water in the kettle to boil for when Jaime arrived. Maybe they could have tea.

She had just finished Two Swords when she heard the door opening. The smile Jaime was wearing made her warm. She set her cello aside and welcomed him.

He tasted of the wine from dinner, and the man she knew. She turned away, blushing at her own eagerness. But Jaime continued to lavish kisses around her face. She could believe she was beautiful.

“You’ll still play, right?” Jaime asked, tucking her hair behind her ears and prompting her to look at him. “I love listening to you.”

“You don’t want tea?” She asked, gesturing at the kettle.

Jaime gestured at the bag he was carrying. “I thought I’d draw you.”

Brienne laughed and looked down at her clothes. “In my pajamas?”

He put his hands on her waist and kissed her gently. “It could work.”

“No way, Jaime. It’s embarrassing! Go draw a vase or something.”

“I think people would be curious to know what Mrs. Lannister wears to bed,” Jaime teased, playing with the bottom of her t-shirt. “I predict a huge interest in unicorn prints.”

“Shut up. I’ve had these forever. I love them.”

She started to pull away when Jaime shook his head. “Why? What is it?” She asked.

In what was becoming a favorite way of answering, he took her by the chin and kissed her. Her lips parted shyly, letting him slide his tongue between them. Then he set her away from him.

“Right.” An unsteady hand smoothed at his hair. “Well, that’s it for now.”

Brienne frowned, confused. But Jaime was already turning away and getting things from his bag. She shrugged and went back to her cello.

Jaime sat in the kitchen area, pulling out a chair to sit on. He arranged his supplies neatly. As Brienne took the cello between her legs, she listened to him sharpening his charcoal.

She ran through some exercises first, playing short pieces. Her body moved with the tempo, like sharp waves crashing toward the shore, pulling back only to come swooping in again. Sweat poured down her nape, it made her arms gleam like marble. Her legs tensed as they tightened around the cello.

Done, she rested her head against the scroll to catch a breath. She closed her eyes, hugging the cello.

As her breathing slowed and the sweat on her back dried, she straightened up. Poised her fingers over the scroll and pegs firmly but gently. She relaxed the grip of her legs and positioned the cello. Then she guided it slowly across the strings. Her fingers were quick and efficient moving up and down the fingerboard, applying different pressures on the strings as she played.

When playing it was so easy to forget time and the rest of the world. This time, she had heightened sense of awareness: the back of her t-shirt still cool from her sweat, the curve of the cello’s body digging against the inside of her knee, the musty scent of the apartment. From the reflection on the window, she saw Jaime glancing at her then the paper he was sketching on.

He was drawing her again.

She blushed and concentrated on playing Two Swords.

She gave it her all. Two Swords was a difficult, emotional piece because of the legend it was based on. She tapped into her pain from the loss of her father, the wrecked cello, of the swift, cruel judgment of the world in the days following the assault. Tears pooled in her eyes as she remembered them.

But she remembered Jaime too. Being with Jaime.

The first time she saw him outside of the van with Bronn and the dog Honey. When he told her that he dreamed of her. His look of pure astonishment when she started undressing, right after she warned him about mocking her. The feel of his lips under her own when they fucked for the first time. Jaime inside her. Too wonderful, too perfect for words.

As the tempo slowed down, she gentled her playing. Half-strokes, half-touches, almost-slides to coax only the softest, gentle notes. She dragged them out, delaying the end of the musical piece. When she stroked the bow across the strings a final time, it was followed by deafening silence.

Her legs were shaking as she stood up. She had had to grip the cello else it would slip from her fingers.

Then she heard a chair scrape. With a gulp, she turned and saw Jaime standing up. He was looking at her.

He walked around the table and went to her. Brienne, still clutching at the cello, fumbled with the buckles and snaps of its case. It was difficult because her hands were shaking.

Then Jaime was standing beside her. A hand slipping under her t-shirt to caress her stomach. Lips on her nape. She sighed and he whispered against her skin, “You make it so hard to look away from you when you’re playing.”

As he spoke, his hands cupped her breasts. Fingers lightly pinched her nipples. Her body arched sharply against his chest.

“You’re compelling to watch. ” he went on, his hands busily stroking her body and setting her aflame.

 He turned her around, catching her by the nape to pull her down to kiss her fully on the mouth. As she kissed him back and ran her palms up and down his chest, he yanked her pajamas down. Her face and body was a palette of reds and pinks, every shade of it getting deeper when Jaime dropped to his knees to follow the fall of her pants. One by one, he took her by the ankle, freeing her from the fabric.

Fingers clamped around the fleshy curve of her buttocks as Jaime leaned in to kiss her cunt, as he would her mouth. Soft, licking kisses parted the warm, aching folds. Lips tugged at the petal-soft skin of her labia, a tongue sweeping idly up and down the inner curves. A whimper broke out of her tight throat as his kisses deepened, got hungrier. Her legs were beginning to weaken with every swipe of his tongue, every suction of his lip. Jaime draped one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her. She felt forefinger and thumb sweep open the moistening slit of her cunt and then his lips were there, pulling eagerly at her swollen clit.

She gripped him by the hair. _“Jaime.”_

“I want to play you,” he growled, releasing her clit with a pop.

She looked at him, confused. Jaime smirked and got up to sit on the sofa.

He pulled her down his lap but facing away from him. He pulled off her t-shirt. For the first time, Brienne realized that she was completely nude while he had yet to shed one stitch of clothing. Before she could voice this out, his hands were on her breasts, squeezing and kneading. She didn’t see him smile when her own hands covered his, pressing them harder on the small mounds. He rewarded her with a kiss on the shoulder, up and down the side of freckled neck.

As he played with her nipples and drew hisses and grunts from her, he spread his legs. This had her legs opening too. She shuddered as she felt a slight draft teasing the widened folds of her cunt. His t-shirt felt rough against her back, the denim of his pants a harsh tease under the backs of her thighs. Against her buttocks was the insistent thrust of his cock. She didn’t know what he was going to do to her. But one thing she was sure about: she wasn’t going to refuse.

Brienne was squirming on his lap, unintentionally torturing him. Jaime buried a groan in her shoulder and lowered his hand to her heated cluster of curls. _She was dripping._ The insides of her thighs were _wet._ He petted her cunt before two fingers plunged in.

She quickly clenched around them, hissing. _“Jaime.”_

He pinched her nipple. It got her wetter. He pushed a tongue in her ear. She poured.

“Let me play you, wench,” he whispered.

Gods, she thought, realizing what he meant. She nodded and relaxed. Their groans were rough as Jaime sank those two fingers completely in her, flattening his palm against her cunt.

Then he started fucking her with them.

Brienne went wild. She cried out and writhed in his arms, torn between shock and desperation for more. Jaime had her turn her head to him, coaxing her soft lips to open and let his tongue inside. As he rammed his tongue down her throat and muffled her moans, his hands got to work. Plucking at her nipples. Plunging in and out of her cunt in furious, deep strokes. Those fingers twirled inside her before fucking her hard again. This time Brienne managed to tear away from his kisses to shriek.

She was skittish and wouldn’t remain still. She was fucking strong. But he could be stronger, and this time he was. Gripping her against his body and taking more kisses from her mouth. Spreading the lips of her cunt wider with fingers to fuck her harder. It was too much. Brienne never knew it could get this intense. That this kind of feeling ever existed. It was terrifying because she felt herself about to shatter any moment now. But it was exhilarating too because Jaime was here. He was the only man she would to do this to her. It will be only this good with him.

With a scream, she came, tightening around his fingers. Her entire body tensed, the muscles in her thighs shaking as her orgasm swept through her like a tidal wave. Then she softened, sinking against Jaime’s chest, on his thighs. Whisper-soft kisses danced around her face and neck. She sighed contentedly as he pulled out his fingers.

Brienne couldn’t remember how she made it to the bed. Couldn’t remember when Jaime removed his clothes. But she was there and he was her golden lion in her arms again, overwhelming her with kisses and hands, his cock. Her eyes closed in pleasure when his lips wrapped around nipples. She murmured his name as he licked his way down her stomach before stopping at her cunt. She was wanton and desperate for the feel of him inside her again as she spread her legs. Jaime groaned her name and then he was inside her.

They usually fucked roughly, both of them chasing that feeling. This urgency was still present with every stroke of his cock inside her. He was still rough. She still loved every moment of it. But now it was interspersed with kisses, searching gazes, gentle caresses. When her hand raised to touch his cheek, Jaime held it there. He continued to thrust into her as he pressed kisses on her palm, her wrist, sucked the tip of her middle finger. Then he was lying completely over her, pulling her in his emerald eyes.

She came with a soft gasp this time, arching against him and her head falling back against the pillow. He kisses her along the jaw, down her throat, until she picked up her head. She took his face in her hands, watching him as he grunted and tensed. His eyes closed and again her name fell from his lips. She pulled his head down to her chest and he embraced her.

They slept in each other’s arms. For the first time after so long, Brienne found peace in her sleep.

At one point during the night, her eyes opened. It was dark but she could see the outline of Jaime’s nose, his jaw. Her hand was on his chest.

“I love you, Jaime,” she said simply before closing her eyes.

She didn’t know that he was wide awake at the time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm lucky that my beta, SeleneU, works really fast! However, due to some things that might be happening soon, it's safer to say, again, that you can expect an update every two weeks. That's my fault, sorry. There's just so much going on. 
> 
> Still, I'm thankful for reading and the kudos! I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter.
> 
> Cheer!


	3. At the Edge of A Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic moments between Jaime and Brienne. Angst and smut ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update!

Two months later

 

In thirty minutes, Brienne would be home. Jaime put his sketchpad, pencils and charcoal in the satchel and got up from the bench. Home was ten blocks away. His heart was racing—it always did whenever the time for his wife’s arrival approached. Yet he didn’t rush, and swung by his favorite patisserie to pick up some chocolate eclairs. 

Brienne had been accepted in the music division of the Marillion. Because she attended the same school for one term, some of the courses she had before were credited. And adviser oversaw her progress in the program. 

She had chosen Two Swords as her audition piece. With all the publicity surrounding the trial, plus her marriage to Jaime, she was pressured to do well. No one pressed her but she took it upon herself to put out a performance that was nothing short of excellent. The result of the audition was advanced placement in courses such as Ear Training and Composition. 

Being a student at the Marillion was hard work. On top of classes, students were also encouraged to take advantage of practice rooms. Brienne had classes until six and then she practiced for an hour and half before going home. 

The days following Brienne’s return to school were hard for Jaime. He was so used to having her around that the loft felt empty and lonely without her. Brienne was worried at first about her practicing distracting Jaime. He liked quiet when he was working, true, but he loved hearing her play. They usually went out for lunch then took their time walking back home. Then Jaime would draw her until sunset.

Afterwards, they fucked.

He was driven by the insatiable need to be with her and to erase all the cruelty and violations visited upon her body. To know love, how it was to be cherished—these were things he wanted Brienne to know in his arms.  
Brienne was also a stimulating woman in many ways. Yes, she was still shy and this was a huge part of her appeal, as well as her intelligence and insightfulness. They had lively debates and conversations covering every subject under the sun. Her sapphire eyes would widen, narrow, darken, sparkle, flutter. Depending on how much she got into a subject, her blush covered the entire spectrum of pinks and reds as well as yet-unnamed-shades. Now, the topic of sex—this was when Jaime witnessed her several times flushing heavily. And he enjoyed way too much following her arguments with non-sequitur inquiries about the state of her nipples or cunt, an eager hand delving under her clothes.

But it was when talking about music that he got to see her blossom. Her sapphire eyes shone as she talked about her favorite composers, her love for hard metal music. She knew all the bands in the genre. It was a turn-on seeing Brienne so excited about something that really interested her. As if it wasn’t enough that when she was around, Jaime had to restrain himself from kissing her senseless and fucking her against the nearest flat surface.

For the first time in his life, Jaime was learning how it felt to be with a woman. A woman who was his partner in unexpected ways. 

Fucking Brienne was so. . .blissful. Often they started gently but it didn’t take long for them to fall into a rough, breathtaking pace that took out everything from them. It was also. . .nourishing. He was a romantic fool describing it that way but that’s how it was. There was something about fucking her that made him feel alive. He still worried about overwhelming her and possibly scaring her. Sometimes a look of uncertainty would pass on her face but vanish quickly. The nightmares appeared to have ceased, he was almost sure. He remained awake for an hour after she’d fallen asleep, watching her and determined to slay the demons that might plague her still.

Jaime put the box of eclairs on the counter. He checked out the fridge for something to cook or heat. There was still lasagna from last night so this went into the microwave. In the crisper was a head of lettuce and some carrots. He would make a salad with them.

The microwave had just pinged when he heard the front door opening. He finished drizzling the olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing over the salad, keeping an eye on the door as he did. When it began to open and Brienne’s plain blond head appeared followed by the rest of her body, a grin split across his face. 

She shrugged off her short, tan coat, revealing the white shirt and denim mini-skirt she was wearing underneath. Black boots ending just below her knee showcased her amazingly long legs. Her hair was tousled from the commute but her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink. She placed her cello case next to the sofa, dropping her backpack right next to it. 

“Wench,” Jaime greeted her as she turned to face him.

She looked rumpled, her clothes bearing traces of travel but he couldn’t take his eyes away from her. His cock stirred at the extra shine in her eyes when shaking her head at his endearment. Then she went to him, a small smile on her lips. 

Never did he think that her heavily-freckled, homely face with the awesome eyes could be so dear and sweet to him. 

“How was school?” He asked just before kissing her. 

Her lips were slightly chapped but soft, very soft. They were cool as was the rest of her body. Emanating from her skin was the scent of fall, of crimson leaves and golden sunlight. It pleased him when her arms went around his shoulders. He hugged her tightly to him, rubbing her back to warm her. 

“Composition is kicking my ass,” she answered huskily. He kissed her consolingly on the cheek and it pulled another smile from her. So what if her teeth were big and crooked? It was endearing. Sighing, she put her hand on his chest. “And I have a Music Theory test in a couple of weeks.”

“Fuck professors,” he retorted affectionately, squeezing the side of her waist. She chuckled and sighed.

“Indeed. Fuck ‘em,”she agreed just before his mouth swooped toward her again. 

Her hand slipped under his shirt, her calloused fingers brushing his abs in a way that made his cock hard. As her casual, innocent touches aroused him, he caressed her boldly: the smooth skin of her back under her blouse and tank top, his thumb dipping in her navel, the back of her thighs. Her quickening breath hit his tongue as he started freeing the snaps and zipper of her denim skirt. 

Brienne groaned and gasped, pulling away from him long enough to reveal the incredulous look in her beautiful eyes. Jaime couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Still?” He teased, undoing her skirt completely and letting it fall to the floor. Fuck but she was magnificent.

Messy hair, sapphire eyes nearly black with lust, swollen lips. His fingers fluttered to the line of her panties, brushing the pubic hairs slipping from the sides. Then he cupped her fully, his other arm wrapping around the back of her waist before kissing her. It was amazing feeling her go from warm to damp, her moisture coating his palm. His hands were shaking as they climbed to her face. Hunger for Brienne prevented him from seeing clearly. Harder their lips fused, making him sway on his feet. He urged her towards the sofa until the back of her knees hit its edge. 

Brienne sat down, looking up at him. Jaime caressed her pink cheeks before she turned and began to unzip his jeans. He put his hands on hers and she looked at him curiously.

“Later,” he promised, removing her hands with great reluctance. He got down on his knees before her. Nudging her legs open so he could put himself between them, he added, “I missed you.” 

Brienne bit her lip and took his face in her hands. She lowered her head and he quickly covered the distance between them with a kiss. “Oh, Jaime,” she whispered hotly. 

He looked at her again. Gods damn it but she looked more desirable, sexier with every slide of his eyes to her. Then he kissed her. 

She was shaking too, he discovered while licking the pulse at the base of her throat, his hands tugging at the neckline of her tank to cup her small breasts. She was gripping him tightly now, her hard arms bound to leave his back and shoulders bruised, the leather of her boots digging at his sides despite his t-shirt. His jeans felt like a furnace, his cock so hard and painful he couldn’t see straight. But he kept lavishing kisses on her throat, her nipples. Tugging at the pink tips with his lips, lashing them with his tongue to draw one sexy moan after another. 

He took more kisses from her mouth, loving how she panted and held him. He pulled at her panties, fingers skimming the front and finding it soaked now. Seven but her thighs were wet too. She hissed, grunted at the light touch. He was reluctant to end their kiss as he guided the little garment down her legs. 

He stared at her cunt as if seeing it for the first time. Brienne was very hairy, and her mound was a thick tangle of dirty-blond and pale curls. They were rough and springy, scratching at his palm. But under them was the softest, sweetest slice of flesh, warm and dripping just for him.

Again he pulled her legs until her hips reached the edge of the sofa. Brienne was wide-eyed, looking at him with a mix of disbelief and anticipation. She was also looking at him with love. He hoped so. Why had she not repeated the words? Why tell him only when she thought he was asleep? But he could wait. By the gods he could still wait. But to taste her again, flood his mouth with her essence—no, he wasn’t going to let another a second pass.

He nudged her cunt lips open and lowered his head.  
He licked the inner lips, where she was pink and soft. He kissed her cunt as he would her mouth, with longing and hunger, wanting to convey that she deserved to be loved and desired. He unleashed a storm of searing, greedy kisses on her, encouraged by her cries of his name and the uninhibited thrusts and rolls of her hips. If only he could paint her like this. But then he wouldn’t be able to taste her. 

He suckled her clit, drawing a scream from her throat. She thrashed under him, mewls of protest falling from her lips. He knew it was too much for her but she could take it. He flattened his tongue against the hard button while his fingers began to work inside her. Another scream. Hands fell on his hair, yanked at the strands. He smirked, kissing and sucking her harder, fucking her cunt with relentless thrusts of his digits until they sank fully. As her passage squeezed around his fingers, he straightened up but remained on his knees. 

Brienne’s head was flung back. Sweat darkened some strands of her hair, droplets decorated her upper lip, around her neck. Her eyes were closed. Her shirt was halfway down her shoulders. The neckline of her tank remained under her breasts. Nipples gleamed like wet raw rubies. She was a goddess.

And she loved him. 

He kept his fingers inside her tight heat, curling them and making her moan. When he slanted his lips over hers, she grunted his name., at her taste. Her eyes opened briefly before they closed again and she gave in to the kiss. 

Her thick lips and wide mouth called to be devoured. Her hands fluttered to his face, fingers buried in his hair. He loved kissing her while fucking her as he was doing now. He wanted her to forget all the hurt she endured because of her looks, her body. If he had to teach her everyday, like this, for a long time, he would. 

He was. 

“Brienne.” He didn’t hide the pleading note in his voice. He nipped at her swollen lip. “Gods, wench. I want you.”  
She gazed at him, her eyes now smoldering cobalt blue. It took his breath away. 

She swiped her tongue around his lips, pulling back to show him how vividly she was blushing. Then her hands were on him, skimming his stomach, dancing over the zipper of his jeans. He gripped her by the shoulders, then her face, kissing her deeply on the mouth as she freed his cock. When air caressed the naked length of his hardness, he breathed her name pulled her in his arms. He laid her on the floor and climbed on top of her. 

He didn’t give her time to adjust; he rubbed the head of his cock up and down her dripping cunt, mixing his own trickling fluids with hers. It made her growl, hips lurching sharply toward him. Then he took himself in hand and entered her in one swift thrust. Gods.

“Oh, Jaime. Jaime. I---” she started to mutter but he couldn’t resist kissing her. 

The pace of their fucking was furious, as if this was the last. He didn’t want to slow down and from the way she was bruising him with her embrace, neither did she. He marveled at how her cunt squeezed him harder with each thrust, sucking him inside her like the sweetest, tightest vise. If only he could be inside her forever. He looked in her eyes and was lost.  
It was all he wanted.

 

****  
Dinner was a picnic on the floor, by the fireplace. They ate the lasagna straight from the pan.

Brienne scowled as Jaime held out an éclair to her. 

Crowned with thick cream, strawberry slices and swirls of dark chocolate, it was a rich complement to the hearty dinner they had. He laughed at her expression but continued to dangle the dessert before her eyes. When she finally leaned forward with her mouth open, he pulled his hand back and took a big bite.

She rolled her eyes and suddenly grabbed his hand to smash the dessert on his face. Chocolate, strawberries and pastry covered him from nose to jaw. As Jaime burst out laughing, she climbed on his lap. Her face was red but the resolve in her eyes told she wouldn’t be stopped from her agenda.

She licked his face. 

It was the naughtiest thing she had ever done. But she couldn’t help herself.

Licking quickly turned to kissing, tussling playfully on the floor. Brienne fell on her back, Jaime quickly settling on top of her. Grinning through her embarrassed blush, she wiped the cuff of her shirt on his face, removing the last bits of the éclair. 

“You didn’t share,” she accused him as she caressed his cheek. 

Jaime winked at her and shrugged. “I like to eat.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. As a fiery blush exploded from her cheeks, he laughed again. 

Then he was pulling open her shirt and helping himself to her nipples. Her arms flung out to her sides, as if she were on a cross and helpless. Warm, sticky lips tugged on the swollen pink nubs. When his tongue circled her left nipple, she held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut. It was more sensitive now and the soft, wet lash he was giving her was making her tensed, her heart race. When he dragged it deep in his mouth, she sighed his name. Tomorrow her nipples would chafe against her clothes, no matter how soft the fabric, reminding her of his eager kisses. She would count the hours until school was over. 

Brienne felt herself floating to the clouds with every kiss Jaime pressed on her skin. She was still not used to it despite the months they’ve had and more. 

Through half-closed eyes, she watched his blond head move from her breasts down to her stomach, nuzzling the smooth, taut flesh. This was how it felt to be desired, she thought, legs parting open. How many times did she vow to remember? She didn’t forget. But it was still quite difficult to grasp it applied to her. 

His lips rubbed the seam between her cunt and thigh, followed by the wet flick of tongue. She felt herself getting hot again. His fingers coaxed her open and she bit her lip, feeling the slow, wet slide of his semen down to her rosette. He licked her, tongue tracing slow, infinite circles that made her clench and hiss. 

He was going to destroy her again. 

And always she would let him. 

As Jaime suckled at her clit and his fingers pumped inside her with maddening care, she struggled to speak, torn between wanting to know and just letting him devastate her again. She had to know why he liked to fuck her. She needed to know why he often kissed her like this, with a reverence fit more for deities than her. He had saved her, protected her, dragged her from the darkness and fought at her side. How could she not love him for that? But this, kisses on the part of her that beastly men had thought to take for themselves, the kisses Jaime seemed tireless to give her, she must know. Why? He had done more than enough. This was too much. 

But she didn’t resist the lure of the white chasm. She flung herself to it with eyes and arms wide open. When she resurfaced, she looked up into green eyes that warmed and darkened, staring at her as if they refused to miss a single flicker of expression on her face. 

Jaime’s cock easing into her ever so gently made her gasp and once again, fall apart. 

After the second time, Brienne felt heavy and tired. 

They still lay by the fireplace, with the carpet serving as their bed and a blanket covering them. She reached up to touch the golden locks of his hair. His breath hitched and his eyes closed. She stilled, realizing for the first time since they started fucking that he liked for her to touch him. Her rough, calloused hand that was bigger than his. 

His response was unexpected and encouraging. Her fingers traced the firm line of his jaw, down his shoulder, his chest. She thumbed at a golden nipple and looked at him. He was breathing harshly, his elegant nostrils flaring. 

“Is it okay?” She asked, dropping her eyes momentarily to where she was touching him, now ruffling the golden curls of his chest.

Jaime grinned. “Are you really asking that?”

She blushed as he pulled her hand back to his cheek. “This is still new to me.”

“For me too.”

“ _Everything_ is new to me.”

She continued touching him without a word passing between them. Then her hand lowered to his shoulder, skimmed his chest. Blue and green eyes watched her freckled hand acquaint itself with the tickling texture of the hairs there, the taut muscles, warm skin. 

She shifted to get more comfortable, her legs moving. The lingering wetness between her thighs made her blush. Jaime, who had turned his attention to her face, saw red flare in her cheeks. 

“A silver stag for your thoughts, wench,” he said, pulling her hand to drape it over his shoulder. He sighed as he rolled to his back, putting her half on top of him, her long leg between his. The flush of her cheeks deepened as her cunt pressed on his hard thigh. How she wanted to rub against him to soothe the soft flames kindling again. 

“They’re not worth knowing,” she said, brushing his hair from his forehead. 

“I don’t know,” he teased. “Anyone who blushes like that has a secret that begs to be revealed.”

Because they were skin to skin, he felt her heart skip a beat. She looked away and his eyes brimmed with concern.

“What is it?” A gentle nudge at her chin had her turning back to him. “Sweetheart?”

Gods, how did she get herself in situations like this, she wondered in mortification. With surprising boldness, she kissed Jaime on the mouth, probably for courage. He didn’t let her slip back to her side of the carpet. 

Instead he kept her on top of him. Hands roamed her body, mapping her back, her hips, fingers fluttering in the crevice between her buttocks. She stilled for a second, wondering. He had fucked her there for the first time during their honeymoon. It was a strange experience at best, not very comfortable but something that intrigued her such that she asked him to take her there again a few weeks later. She could see herself asking for it a third time. 

But Jaime just cupped the firm flesh in his hands, squeezing her. She let out a sigh, her warm breath brushing his face. She sat up and he was reluctant to release her. As she looked away, he sat up too. 

“What’s going on?” He sounded genuinely worried.

“It’s nothing bad,” she said quickly, clutching the blanket to her breasts. “I’m not complaining.”

Jaime frowned at her.

Now that she was cornered, there was nowhere to go.  
“I’ve noticed that. . .you like doing something. . .often.”She began. Holy Seven Hells, she could feel her entire body burning in embarrassment. 

“You mean my painting?”

“No. It’s. . .oh, fuck.” She hung her head. Staring at the puddle fabric on her lap, she spoke rapidly, “You kiss me a lot. Down there.” 

She raised her head, looking at him in the eye. Sweat gathered under her arms.

Jaime looked confused then surprised. “Yeah. I do.”

“You do it a lot.”

“Yes. Why, am I too rough?” At that, he reached for the blanket, trying to look at her cunt. Brienne squawked and jerked away. 

“No! You’re not! It’s just that. . .you do it a lot.” Not to mention that she often woke up with his hand on her cunt. She squirmed but she was remembering how she liked that. 

Again the confusion. “Is that a problem?” He whispered.

“Of course not!” Brienne declared. “It’s just that. . .Jaime, I don’t. . .I mean, is it normal? That you do it so often?”

He blinked at her several times.

Then he laughed. Loudly.

Annoyed, she growled, “I don’t like to be laughed at!”

“I’m not, wench. I’m really not!” Jaime gasped as he pulled her so she was straddling his lap. He wrenched the blanket from her body. She continued to scowl at him, her spine stiff as his laugh softened to chuckles. He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the mouth. When he set her away, his expression was serious.

“I love your cunt, Brienne. I love how easily it gets wet and it tastes sweeter each time,” he told her. A hotter blush crept up her cheeks and she looked away. 

Never had anyone discussed her body so frankly the way Jaime had. It was horrible how very personal detail about her body was in court records now. If she wasn’t ridiculed or insulted, she was studied like an object. To hear Jaime describing a part of her that she wouldn’t even look at in a tone laced with admiration and desire was disconcerting at the very least. 

He pressed his lips to her cheek and continued, “I love that it’s _your_ cunt. I kiss you there a lot because I hope that you’ll forget how you’ve been hurt.” He paused to kiss her at every word.

She looked at him disbelievingly. His emerald eyes were solemn but his voice was firm as he spoke.  
“I won’t have you hurt again, Brienne. I swear it.”

 

*******

“Fuck!” Bronn yelled, snatching his hand away and dropping the hammer on the floor. “Seven fucking hells!”

Jaime grimaced as Bronn sucked his finger to staunch the blood. “I don’t know why you’re going through the trouble of making a crib. Didn’t Lollys put it in her list for the shower?”

“Yes. She did.”

Jaime cocked an eyebrow. “So why are you making this fucking crib?”

“She picked this fancy white thing with pretty pink dragons and all,” Bronn finally picked a bolt. “It’s nice but I thought she’d like something traditional. You can’t go wrong with it, can you?”

Jaime had to resist grinning. “Not sure about that. Marge was firm about certain brands and materials for the baby stuff. She put this mobile of roses and birds in the list. I got her the one with lions because the twins are Lannisters. She wasn’t very happy about that.”

“This is good sturdy wood,” Bronn pointed out.

“That might be all you’ll be getting for a while. Earlier when Lollys finds out you sabotaged her list.”

“She’ll like it.” Bronn insisted. “Brienne’s coming to the shower, right?”

She had been surprised with the invitation, Jaime remembered. Bronn and Lollys had told him about it weeks before and even gave him a card. 

Shortly following the trial, Jaime decided to take Brienne on a proper honeymoon. They didn’t go far, just to the city of Oldtown. But he booked them at the most luxurious hotel for a week. He took her out for delicious meals, concerts, they went for leisurely walks during the day. At night, they wore out the bed fucking. The day before their return to King City, they stayed in bed just fucking. 

He had sworn never to touch Brienne, determined to uphold his vow to himself to keep the marriage only in name and for her protection. But he had no control on how they sought each other, drawn like magnets no matter what. He may have proposed to her with only the noblest intentions but he did want her. Had wanted her since seeing her sapphire eyes up close and she was wearing that soiled pink uniform and stinking of dog piss and shit. 

He was hoping she would repeat the three words she had whispered to him in the night. Why did she have to tell him in the dark, when she thought he was asleep? Why not in the sun, when he could see her eyes? He did everything to get her to say them to him. He took her on a half-day tour of a cello workshop, brought her to an outdoor concert of a string quartet, fucked her in every way possible between a man and a woman but nothing. Instead, all he got were eyes that burned from sapphire to silver-blue, lovely pink cheeks, rapture on her face and breathy grunts of his name. Once or twice he caught her staring at him over the rim of her coffee cup during breakfast. When he looked at her inquiringly, she blushed and hastily took a sip. He debated between teasing her or asking her directly. In the end, he did nothing. 

After the honeymoon, he told her to move her stuff to the loft. She could keep her apartment or rent it out if she wanted. She had looked surprised and it hurt a little. Did she not want to be with him under the same roof? Was she not one hundred percent in this marriage in spite of the reasons behind it? 

He couldn’t help being ridiculously pleased that the first objects she brought with her were the cellos. She kept the one from Selwyn in their closet, and the one from him propped in its stand by their bed. With all the moving and adjusting they were doing, the invitation got lost.

He told her about the baby shower after fucking her for the second time last night. After she asked him about loving way too much going down on her and he’d answered, there was a heavy, awkward silence between them. He wondered if he had revealed too much and it wasn’t the most pleasant thought. Brienne just lay beside him, curved to herself and touching him only with her breath. Then she put her hand on his chest and when he turned she was looking at him. Her eyes were watery and red, her wide chin was quivering. 

Like a kitten, she burrowed her bigger, taller form against him and he held her, rubbing her back and kissing her. To lighten the mood, he told her about the invitation. Her startled face greeted him before she suddenly laughed. She didn’t leave his arms until this morning. 

“Yes,” Jaime answered Bronn. “She is.” 

“She’s sweet, your lady,” Bronn remarked, taking another bolt and using it to attach the other end of the railing to the headboard. “How’s she doing? You said she got in that fancy music school.” 

“She deserved that spot more than anyone,” Jaime said, a little defensive.

Bronn looked at him. “I’m not passing any judgment, idiot. Just making a comment. I haven’t heard her play.”  
“She’s wonderful. Her class will be performing before the term ends. I can get you tickets.” 

“Sure. That’s nice.” Bronn shrugged and continued working. 

Jaime tilted his head, this time frowning at his friend. Maybe Bronn was just distracted while assembling the crib but there was something in the air. Something charged. Nothing annoyed him more than beating around the bush.

“What is it?” Bronn had the audacity to look puzzled. Jaime persisted, “Do you have something to say or not? About Brienne?” 

“Actually, it’s you.” Bronn said after a moment. 

“What about me?” 

“Whenever I see you these days, you look like a man who’s both in great pain and glad for it. And when you’re around Brienne, you have this look. Like you’re ready to take a bullet for her or something. Like you’re anticipating it. You want for there to be bullet.” Bronn finished with the first railing and went to work on the other. “It’s a cause for concern.” 

“Whose concern? Yours? Lollys?” 

“Not just us,” Bronn admitted after another beat of silence. “It doesn’t matter who exactly, Jaime. But we’ve noticed it.” 

“She’s my wife. Of course I’m protective of her.” 

“We’re all protective of the people we love. But you go around with this look. Like you want someone to cross the line so you can save her.” 

“You’re seeing things.” 

“In that case we’re all seeing things, then.” Bronn crossed his arms as if satisfied he had proven a point. “There’s nothing wrong with it, really. You just go around as if you want to prove something. You would provoke it if you can.” 

“You’re talking shit.” 

“I might be.” 

“What if I look like that? You have no idea what my wife has been through.” It made Jaime ill knowing that Roose wasn’t the first man to hurt Brienne, but he came the closest to destroying her. “I’m not just talking about the assault and the trial. She’s dealt with things that you wouldn’t want your baby girl to know about.”

“So she has,” Bronn said. “She’s probably the strongest person I know.”

“She is to me.”

“Then maybe you could trust her some more to take care of herself instead. Honestly, Jaime, you look so fucking ridiculous sometimes.”

Jaime was exasperated. “She’s my wife. Don’t you feel like that in any way about Lollys?”

“Of course. I’d wrap her up in bulletproof material from head to toe and never allow her near sharp corners if I could. But that’s not the woman I married. She knows I’ll make any bastard who hurts her pay dearly.” Bronn answered. “Take a closer look at Brienne, Jaime. She might surprise you. Again.”

 

*******  
Brienne grunted under her breath after playing The Winds of Winter. She rested her forehead on the cello as she waited for her heartbeat to slow down. 

There was a light rap on the door then it opened. She looked up, still holding her instrument against her body when Khal Drogo, a graduate student majoring in piano, peeked in. She grinned at him. “What’s up?”

“I was just listening to you and can I just say—wow!” He exclaimed, opening the door so he could lean against the frame. He chuckled at her blush. “I’d say you earned a Myrish sub. You up for it?”

Brienne was a little hungry but she would be home in an hour. “I can join you for coffee, if that’s alright?”

“Sure. I’ll just hustle up the rest of the gang,” Khal told her. “Meet you downstairs?”

As Brienne packed up, she placed a call to Jaime. He answered on the first third ring. “Wench,” he greeted her.

She rolled her eyes. “Brienne.”

“Alright. If you say so.” He sounded like he was smiling. She put the phone on speaker as she checked the room for anything she might have forgotten. 

“I might be a few minutes late coming home. I’m having coffee with some friends.”

“Sure. From the way Bronn is assembling the crib, I might be here all night.”

Brienne scratched her head. “But isn’t that in Lollys’ list? I saw that.”

“He thought he’d surprise her with something traditional. Yeah, wench. I have to be here in case there’s a murder or something.”

“You’re crazy,” she said, laughing. 

“Are you having coffee near school? Because I can pick you up.”

“You’re over at Bronn’s. That’s on the other side of the city.”

“Yeah. But I thought I’d give my wench a ride instead of having her slug it out in the subway with her gigantic cello case.”

“That’s sweet. And again,” she growled, “It’s Brienne.”  
“If you say so,” Jaime said in a singsong voice.

“You’re impossible. However, I’ll let that pass just this once because you’re picking me up. I’ll text you where I am.”

“Great. Alright, wench. Take care of yourself.”

When Brienne hopped off the final step from the stairs, the gang was already there: Khal with his arm around Missandei’s waist, a fellow graduate student he was dating, and Jaqen H’ghar. They were all graduate students and closer to her age. Missandei was also studying the piano while Jaqen was flute. 

Brienne was thrilled that they have befriended her. It still blew her mind that she got in the Marillion and was placed in a couple of advanced classes. In fact, some of her professors had even invited her to sit in on their graduate classes if she was interested. She did and this was how she met them.

She would be twenty-four in a few months. It didn’t make her so much older than undergrad students but she didn’t have much in common with them. A lot of them were away from home for the first time so living in the city was overwhelming for them. As passionate as they were about their craft, so were they about partying. Getting smashed and hungover was not her scene and given what it took her to land an audition again, she wasn’t going to waste it by doing half-assed work in class or missing them to recover. 

Khal, Missandei and Jaqen were in their twenties, like her. They weren’t married and certainly have not had their names splashed on the newspapers in the most sordid way. But they knew how hard it was to balance life as a student and life elsewhere. They had scholarships but didn’t cover everything. Khal played the piano in septs and funerals for spending money and rent, Missandei supplemented her allowance by being a private tutor and Jaqen worked various odd jobs to keep himself fed. Just a few months ago, Brienne had been exactly like them, working three jobs and watching over her money like a hawk. 

She was grateful that marrying Jaime meant she didn’t have to worry about money although she remained careful. She bought a sandwich to school so she wouldn’t have to hit the cafeteria for food and took the bus and the subway because she was loathed to spend money on the cab. 

It was also an effort not to call attention to herself. She was still recognized from the TV and newspaper coverage of the trial—students and staff alike would look at her discreetly when she hit the vending machine for a soda or when she was in class. The Lannister name awed and made people run in fear so to have one in the midst, even when she was only married to one, was an adjustment. 

One of Jaime’s gifts to her was a fabulous new wardrobe for school. She appreciated it but took care—one look and it was clear that the clothes were tailored and expensive. She dressed mixing up her old stuff with them. The one item her husband had given her that she could hardly be without were the knee-high black boots. They fit her well around the knee and were a dream to wear, especially in the fall. Today she wore it with her faded jeans, a soft, gray pullover and black coat. A bright blue cashmere scarf from Jaime finished the look. 

They went to a café around the corner. Brienne stuck to coffee while everyone ordered sandwiches with their drinks. 

The conversation was about music, but nothing from their classes. They had a lively debate about idiotic pop princesses, with Missandei their only defender. There was a lot of laughter and joking around that Brienne nearly forgot about texting Jaime. She quickly sent him the name of the place, kept her phone on the table so she won’t miss his call. 

At some point, Khal and Missandei seemed to be just talking to themselves, leaving Brienne and Jaqen to talk. Jaqen glanced at her phone and asked, “Expecting a call?”

She nodded. “Yes. My husband.”

“Oh, yes.” Jaqen said. “Khal told me.”

“He’s an artist,” Brienne couldn’t help but be proud. “His name’s Jaime.”

Just then, her phone buzzed. She read Jaime’s message: He would be arriving in ten minutes. She replied asking him to come in the café to meet her friends. He answered quickly: _Sure, wench._

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Jaqen. She gestured to her phone. “That was him.”

“Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to jam with me and my band some time,” Jaqen told her. 

“You have a band?”

“Well, not a band-band. But I hang out with these old fellas and they perform in jazz clubs.”

“Jazz,” Brienne flushed. “Oh, Jaqen. I’m sorry but I don’t know. It’s not really my music.”

“No big deal,” he said. “But I’ve heard you play and it’s incredible. Trust me, these guys are great.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She answered then took a sip of her coffee.

The four of them were talking about the most awful movie scores when Brienne spied a familiar golden head in the crowd. Excusing herself, she got up and went to the front. Blushing, she tapped Jaime on the shoulder. Beautiful emerald eyes and a happy smile greeted her.

“Wench,” he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her on the lips. Brienne hoped she wasn’t blushing any harder. 

She slapped him lightly on the arm. “Oh, behave. Do not call me that in front of people.”

Still holding her, he rubbed the tip of his nose playfully against hers. “Hmm. I’ll make a deal if you’re ready.”

“We are not going to make deals so you’ll behave,” she pointed out firmly.

Jaime smirked. “Yes. Brienne.”

She kissed him on the cheek then took him by the hand. 

Jaime was friendly with everyone, shaking hands and then asking her if they could stay a bit longer since they weren’t in a hurry. Brienne could have kissed him again but she was too embarrassed at being affectionate with her husband in front of friends. 

Another chair was pulled out. Jaqen moved so he was sitting next to Missandei. Brienne sat down next to Jaime, blushing when he took her hand. 

They stayed for twenty minutes. During this time, the conversation flowed naturally. Jaime asked questions about everyone’s music. She had mentioned her friends to him and it was nice to know he had been listening. Missandei looked pleasantly surprised when Jaime asked her about an upcoming performance that was a class requirement. Brienne patted herself on the back for being able to stop herself from nuzzling her husband’s neck and purring. Gods, she must have stars in her eyes. 

She loved him. That was without question now. Brienne chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully as they walked to the car a while later. They were holding hands and Jaime carried her cello case in another. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked as opened the passenger side of the car for her. 

“Hmm? Nothing,” she answered, hoping that the dark hid her blush. “Just thinking nonsense, really.” She took the case from him and put it in the backseat. Then she climbed inside the car. 

“Your friends are cool,” Jaime remarked when he slid on the driver’s side. “I like them.”

“That’s nice. They like you too, I can tell.” She told him as he started the car and drove.

He smiled. “Good to know I passed.”

“Are you kidding me? You were wonderful,” she declared sincerely. 

They decided to swing by a drive thru, ordering juicy cheeseburgers, sodas and large baskets of fries. As Jaime continued to drive, Brienne fed him fries. She blushed when he licked and sucked the salt from her fingers, only stopping when she grunted someone might see. He laughed but released her hand. She rolled her eyes at him and turned on the radio to listen to the news.

Brienne relaxed in her seat, not really listening to the broadcaster’s voice. Jaime had his eyes on the road so she could sneak glances at him and he probably wouldn’t notice. 

It was rare to have such easy moments like this, together. Being with Jaime was not difficult but she couldn’t forget the events that threw them together, the reason why they were still together. She told herself a long time ago never to have feelings beyond gratitude for her husband. He was the only man to look at her and never ridicule or mock her. He was the first to be honest with her. Despite wanting to adhere to her vow never to see or feel anything more, she had fallen in love with Jaime.

Could she ever tell him without needing the shield of darkness? She was not tortured about her feelings. Not yet. But they had put in their prenuptial agreement that if the verdict on her case was favorable to her, they would file for divorce. It had been two months. Jaime never mentioned it again after the night he proposed to her. She didn’t dare ask.

And they were behaving like a normal, married couple. A normal, married couple in love.

Maybe she should not have told him. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have to acknowledge her feelings. If she were brave she would ask him about the prenup, what he wanted from her. She was scared of his answers. Jaime was clearly devoted to her and he liked having her around—why else would he have her move in with him—but until when was this idyll going to last? And if she told him she loved him. . . .

Who knows what he might think? But she couldn’t face the possibility that he didn’t feel the same. Not yet.

She was never going to forget that day during the trial, when Jaime attacked Roose in the courtroom. It was the longest, most excruciating day of her life---at that point, she thought it was the hours-long rape kit procedure. The days of the trial had been difficult, with her being cross-examined repeatedly about the night of the assault. No matter how much Barristan Selmy prepared her, she could never anticipate the flaying she got when at the witness stand. Many times she wondered when she would splinter and just give up. The only reason she willed herself not to was because of Jaime. He had done so much that if she dropped the charges it would be for nothing.

She kept all her fear and anger inside, clinging to control and what little strength remained. Roose calling her a whore on the stand was a blow that sent her reeling. Jaime had responded the way every cell in her body screamed at her. That was the first time she realized the trial was hitting him hard too—maybe even harder. Her first instinct was to run and protect Jaime and she hadn’t been able to relax until he was released.

She wondered if she had begun to fall for her husband during that time. Or maybe it was far earlier than that. She would never know. 

When he trusted her enough to tell her about his sister, his pain, she knew she wasn’t going to leave his side. Not out of obligation or duty, or fear of betraying Jaime. She didn’t want to. Her heart wouldn’t let her.

Brienne let out a breath to relieve the sudden constriction in her chest. When she did, the voice of the broadcaster reached her. She frowned, looking at the radio and turning up the volume. 

“---following the conviction of multi-millionaire Roose Bolton on charges of sexual assault against Brienne Lannister, the court has decided that his ten-year-old son Ramsay Bolton will be under the guardianship of his lawyer Vargo Hoat. Further details of the decision include a monthly visit by the child to his father, under the supervision of a court-appointed representative of Child Services. Vargo Hoat, speaking on behalf of his client, has called the decision ‘a travesty and cruel disregard of a father’s importance to a child’s growth.’ And on other news--”

“I don’t believe this,” Brienne murmured, staring at the radio.

Jaime said nothing. 

“That lawyer,” she shuddered, remembering his cold eyes gleeful as he sought to annihilate her on the stand. He had looked at her like one who was already bleeding and helpless on the floor.

With Ramsay having Roose as father and now with Hoat as his guardian---it was making Brienne sick. She was horrified upon finding out that Ramsay had assaulted his nanny. But hearing him describe it matter-of-factly in court— _“Daddy hit Brienne that’s why she cried when he started biting her. I thought to try it without hitting my nanny,”_ — had given her sleepless nights. He was a difficult boy. She never once thought he could be a potential sadist.

“There’s nothing we can do, Brienne.” Jaime lowered the volume of the radio.

She shook her head. “You saw how he was. You saw how Vargo Hoat was.” 

“What do you expect me to do?” Jaime pointed out. Seeing her flinch, he softened his voice. “Brienne. . .this is out of our hands. All I care about is you. Ramsay Bolton is too broken now. He’s never going to have a chance.”

“I was,” Brienne whispered. “Remember?”

Jaime looked at her then the road.

“You gave me a chance.”

“You were never broken,” he said quietly. “And if you were, I’d do everything within my power to put you back together again.”

“It’s not your responsibility to save me, Jaime.”

“Probably not, wench. But you said it yourself. You’ll never be able to stop me from fighting for you.”

 

******  
Jaime was still asleep when Brienne woke up the next day. It was the weekend, which meant staying in bed longer. She would like to remain here, feeling his warmth against hers, watching him until he woke up. But she had been restless since finding out about Ramsay. Jaime must have sensed this too because after joining her in bed, he just put his arm around her waist. She kissed him then went to sleep, now thinking of his words. _I’d do everything within my power to put you back together again._

She didn’t know why it saddened her.

In the afternoon was Lollys’ baby shower. Brienne hoped to get some practicing done before getting ready for that. They will have to leave a little early to swing by the store and pick up the professionally-wrapped bouncy cradle.

She washed her face, soaping quite roughly on her skin so the water stung when she rinsed it. She stared at her pale face and sleepy eyes on the mirror, glowering at the dark circles under her eyes. She splashed more cold water to her face before patting it dry.

The toothpaste tube had been squeezed dry. 

Toothbrush in her mouth, she looked in the cabinet for a spare, quickly finding the box. As she reached for it, her eyes skidded to the items in the shelf below it. Strange. Those packages were still unopened. She bought them precisely because she was going to use them soon after. How long had it been?

Her eyes got huge upon realizing what this meant.

She was fucked. _They both were._

 

*****  
Except for Lollys, Bronn and Jaime, Brienne didn’t know the other guests at the shower. Lollys and Bronn wanted it to be in inclusive event, thus the invitation to friends who were married, dating or single. The menu was a mix of delicate sandwiches and cupcakes, dainty pink lemonade and iced tea, as well as grilled vegetable and beef kebabs and artisanal beer. 

Jaime hardly strayed from Brienne’s side, which got Bronn raising his eyebrow knowingly. He shot his best friend an exasperated look before turning to Brienne and excusing himself. She kissed him on the cheek, which had Jaime looking smugly over at Bronn.

Brienne watched Jaime leave to join the other men before turning her attention back to the circle of females Lollys had introduced her to. She couldn’t remember all their names but she was going to make it a point to remember who had looked at Jaime wistfully when he left. Unbelievable, these women, she thought.  
So, her husband was handsome and maybe every woman’s dream but he was hers and it was just fucking rude when they looked at him like a piece of meat when she was right there. 

She kept her expression placid as the three women slid away from the group and actually followed Jaime. 

“I’m sorry, but is this a baby shower or a middle-school party?” A woman remarked, noting the same three women. She was tall but not as tall as Brienne, and slim. Her dark hair grazed her shoulders. She was not particularly beautiful and her features could be stern. But Brienne was quick to like her. She was Dacey Mormont, a sound engineer that Lollys met through one of the many stage productions she was part of.

“Sorry,” she said when Brienne glanced at her. “No offense, Brienne. Jaime is a sexy guy but it’s just silly for grown women my age to pine after someone happily married.”

“Thanks,” Brienne told her, hiding her blush in her iced tea. She forgot that she was probably the youngest in the room. Everyone here was in their mid-thirties and older. 

“One of those have three children.”

“That makes them even sadder,” Brienne answered, laughing.

Despite her misgivings about attending the party, she went ahead. Lollys and Bronn were good friends of Jaime and they have been incredibly supportive during the trial. She also liked them both, enjoying Lollys’ constant admonitions of her husband’s dirty mouth. 

But having to meet a bunch of strangers was not one of her favorite things to do so she was grateful that there was someone like Dacey Mormont in the mix.

Being in the party, Brienne could forget the latest curveball in the way. She was late by four days, according to the calendar. Her periods were always on time and no matter what had happened to her, she never missed one. Though she never expected her marriage to Jaime to become sexual, she was taking pills just in case. Now it seemed they didn’t work. 

She wondered how in Seven Hells she would tell this to Jaime. Children were never going to be a part of their marriage. Never. They weren’t even supposed to remain together but here they were in a baby shower and acting like any other married couple. 

Last night, Jaime had more or less stated that he was with her to protect her. That had always been his goal and he made sure she knew from the beginning. _I’d do everything within my power to put you back together again._ How was he going to do that now? And gods, what would he think? He was going to think she had conveniently forgotten her pills. He would think she was forcing him to remain married to her. Worse,he would think she did this to get money out of him. 

It was an effort putting her mind back to the rest of the party and concentrating on having fun.

Brienne helped herself to one of the fruit-and-meat skewers. As she ladled sauce on it, strong arms wrapped around her waist. The possibility of a pregnancy was giving her hell but she felt herself ready to dissolve into a puddle when Jaime kissed her on the neck and nuzzled his nose against her hair.

“Having fun, wench?” He asked, turning her around to face him. He grinned at the blush spreading from her face down to her neck. She held out the kebab for him to take a bite from. 

“I am,” she assured him as he took a bite. “The people are nice.”

“Glad to hear that. Say, you want to, you know, get some air or something?”

“Sure.” She finished her share of the food then handed the rest to Jaime. He took her hand and led her away from the party.

Her blush deepened when he pulled her inside Bronn and Lollys’ bedroom. Jaime’s eyes twinkled with mischief and desire as he sat on the foot of the bed, clearing away the coats piled on it. He pulled her down beside him and she looked at her lap. Her stomach was warm and fluttery at knowing what was going to happen. But she was nervous too. She was almost relieved when he just kissed her on the cheek and laced his fingers through hers. Almost, because a huge part of her was disappointed. 

“You know,” she said, clearing her throat and forcing her voice to sound light. “I’ve never made out with a boy in his best friend’s bedroom before.”

“Really?” Jaime continued rubbing his lips against her skin. “Neither have I.”

She laughed and looked at him. He was smiling at her. He rested his forehead on her cheek.

“You’re not bored, are you?” He asked.

“Bored?”

“A bunch of strangers and they’re not really your crowd,” he elaborated. He put an arm around her stomach and she held her breath. “Neither are they mine, really. It’s only Bronn and Lollys I’m friends with here.”

“Well. . .I think there are three ladies here who would jump in your pants the second you give them a chance,” she thought to tease him. Jaime rolled his eyes, making her laugh again. 

“You should give me a big wet one when you see them, wench. Make it clear I’m yours.” Jaime caught her lower lip between his teeth gently. “As you are _mine_.” The last word was a growl. 

She couldn’t help the shiver that seized her suddenly. It was their wedding vows. I am yours and you are mine. Those were complicated days. Nothing compared to where they were now. 

“Some women might like a challenge,” she told him instead.

“They should prepare for disappointment.” Jaime declared. Suddenly, he stood up and offered his hand. 

“Much as I would rather we lock ourselves in this room and forget about the rest of the world, there’s a party outside and it might just get better. Bronn’s going to unveil the crib.”

“’Lollys might like it,” She pointed out as he led them out of the room. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve been around pregnant women enough to know that when they put it in a list, you’re expected to get only items in the list.”

“Are we talking about Margaery?”

Jaime pretended to shudder. “Gods, she was a fucking she-wolf when she was pregnant. I dread the day my brother knocks her up again.”

Brienne managed a small smile when they returned to the party. Dacey saw them and waved, gesturing they join her spot by the wall. She introduced her husband, a big bear of a man who was heavily muscled. His name was Jon Umber. He owned a small animation studio.

“I have your painting,” Jon told Jaime as they shook hands. “It hangs over the fireplace.”

“That’s wonderful, thanks,” Jaime said. “What is it?”

“’Sunset Sea No.4. I’d buy the entire series but I’m not that rich yet,” Jon said, grinning.

“Shush, you two,” Dacey told them. She gestured toward the sofa, where Lollys was sitting with Bronn. They were surrounded by gifts and people, mostly women. The men had hung back, like they were doing. “Oh! It’s our gift next, babe.”

Lollys tore at the paper, her face pink with delight. Brienne leaned against Jaime as she watched as she grinned upon seeing what the box contained. “Oh, they’re so cute!” She exclaimed, showing off a set of beddings and blankets in pink and blue with whimsical prints. “They will go so well with the crib I want!”

“Oh, they will,” Bronn told her. Brienne blushed as Jaime smothered a laugh in her shoulder. 

“Thank you, Dacey and Jon!” Lollys called out to them.  
More gifts were opened and Lollys’ squeals got louder and louder. At one point, Bronn rubbed the inside of his ear but quickly stopped. Brienne hid a smile behind her hand.

Lollys was like a little girl on the Feast of the Seven, clapping her hands and rocking in her seat so that Bronn had to restrain her and remind her about the baby. She just laughed over his concerns and went on to attack the next present. She called out her thanks to the gift-givers. But with Jaime and Brienne, she got up to hug them. 

“I love the bouncy cradle! It’s one of my favorites!” She said, kissing them both on the cheek. Then she waddled back to her seat.

“Is the crib really a big deal?” Brienne asked Jaime.

“You have no idea, wench.”

“As long as the baby is comfortable, I don’t know why it should be.”

“Well.” Jaime shrugged. “You know how mothers can be.”

Brienne looked at him but he was now watching Bronn announced the last gift for Lollys, one he had made himself. As everyone oohed in anticipation, Bronn called out to Jaime, “Hey, you, help me haul it in.”

“You know, you can always ask nicely,” Jaime complained as laughter filled the house. Brienne kissed him and he smiled at her before leaving to join Bronn.

They returned ten minutes later. Brienne saw that they were pulling and pushing a classic baby crib with a soft, chocolate brown finish. It was already outfitted with a mattress, pillows, beddings and a blanket. Lollys stood up, looking at it curiously. Jaime presented it with flourish while Bronn, probably realizing too late he should have stuck to the list, shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. 

Jaime returned to Brienne’s side. She took his hand and he whispered, “Prepare for gunfire, wench.”

“Hush. She’ll like it.”

“This is not on your list,” Bronn told Lollys as she approached him and the crib. “But I wanted to make something for you and the baby. I made some personal touches, like you can lower this,” he said, gesturing at the railings, “ so it’s easier to put her there and when you’re changing. Among other things.”

Lollys’pale blue eyes regarded the crib then she put a hand on it. “You made this?”

Bronn cleared his throat and pushed his shoulders back. “I hope it’s alright.” 

“She’s gonna kill him,” Jaime muttered under his breath. Brienne pinched him on the elbow and he winced. “That was mean.”

“You made this,” Lollys echoed, her voice sounding faint. She removed her hand from the crib and looked at Bronn again. “You made this.”

“Aye.”

Suddenly, Lollys burst into tears. Bronn looked like he wanted to die. As everyone looked at everywhere else but the couple, he said, awkwardly, “Oh, Lollys, I just—I wanted to make something special for you and the baby. I know you wanted that crib but I thought to make you something better---”

“You made a crib!” Lollys cried out, childishly brushing her tears away with the back of her hands. “You made a crib, oh.”

“I’m sorry.” Bronn looked at Jaime and Brienne helplessly. 

“What the fuck are you sorry about?” Lollys suddenly yelled at him. As stunned eyes looked at her, she began to laugh and clap her hands. “I fucking love it, you balding idiot!”

 

*******  
When another day passed and her period was still a no-show, Brienne knew she had to face the firing squad. 

Jaime was out, stocking up on his supplies. He also promised to bring home dessert. She took the opportunity to hit the store and buy a pregnancy test. 

She bought three different brands, all promising high accuracy, and a giant jug of orange juice. Jaime wasn’t home yet. She uncapped the juice and had two glasses before taking the tests to the bathroom.

It was awkward. She had to catch it mid-stream but it wasn’t clear if she should dump her entire piss on the stick or just some of it. So she decided to pee on one from the beginning, the second halfway, and the third, towards the end. She aligned the sticks by the sink and watched the countdown on her cellphone. 

The front door opened. Jaime, arms laden with art supplies, glared at the alarm going off. He lowered one of the packages to punch in the code. He picked it up and walked the short hallway to the door. Again he put his purchases on the floor as he dug out the key from his pocket.

“Wench?” He called out while bringing the bags to the living room. He had to make two trips before deciding he earned a drink. He found orange juice in the fridge and helped himself to a glass. He saw a used glass on the sink. “Brienne?” He called out again.

“In here!” She answered from the bathroom. “Uh, I’m in the shower!”

He grinned. Brienne in the shower. He took a shower last night but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to be with his naked, red-faced wench. He sauntered toward the bathroom and opened the door.  
“Wench—” he started to say.

Brienne shouted, startling him. Jaime sidestepped a short white wand that suddenly curved in the air toward him. He watched it fall on the floor, wondering what his wife was doing with a straw. 

Except it wasn’t a straw. 

He stared at it, realized what it was then looked at Brienne. 

She was red and shaking. She was looking at him with. . .was it fear?

“I’m late,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst is not really my language. Like with some of my longer works, this is an experiment. I like to give myself challenges and man, this is VERY challenging.
> 
> I'm sorry for taking so long to update. Besides real life, angst is turning our to be a very different and difficult animal. I hope you enjoy this latest update and thank for reading it this far.
> 
> Beta by SeleneU! :-) But I updated from my phone because my laptop strangely won't connect. Any mistakes are mine.
> 
> Thanks again!


	4. No Truer Than This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Undisclosed possibilities.
> 
> Incoming angst!

Jaime didn’t trust his legs to carry him to the edge of the tub without tripping. He walked as if on glass, a a slight grimace on his face. He caught the flinch in Brienne’s features. No, he was not going to apologize. Why did she not tell him? How could she tell him everything but not this? It felt like all they’d achieved and built together was crashing down. Brienne turned away, staring wordlessly at the sticks arranged neatly by the sink.

“You should have told me.”

“I didn’t know how.” Her voice was small as she stared at them. He watched her pink knuckles turn white clenching her fists. Noted the quick pulsing at the base of her throat.

Alright. He could give her that. Still, he wanted to rage at her. _You can tell me you love me but not that you might be pregnant?_

“How much longer?” His voice was sharp, making her jump. He sighed loudly and ran his fingers through his hair.

“One more minute.”

“The first one.” He said. “It’s a negative?”

She nodded.

What was he supposed to say? Good? Congratulations? Fuck?

He wrung his hands, noticing this time a thick blue vein that stood out from the side of Brienne’s neck. It was like a dark slash on her pale skin, and looked grotesque on the delicate line of her. Her nostrils flared as she breathed sharply. He wondered if he should go to her, press a kiss below the sensitive spot of her ear. Maybe he should take her in his arms but there was a prickliness to her demeanor now.

Like her, he didn’t have a fucking clue on what to do. He needed some reassurance too but the specifics of it was elusive.

As she chewed her lip, he spoke.

“How many days has it been? How late are you?”

She gave him her big blue eyes. “F-f-five days today.” Her chin wobbled.

He should have known, damn it. For three days of their honeymoon, she had her period. He remembered the vivid red spots on her cheeks when she stammered they couldn’t fuck. His hand was under her shirt then, fingers splayed on a breast that felt rounder and firmer. He assured her that he didn’t mind but if she was uncomfortable they could wait.

She stammered yes, her eyes looking too blue and big but the tightness in her jaw told of her determinations. It also called for his lips. They fucked on thick, dark towels. She was tighter than the first time and her cunt was honeyed furnace. It was mesmerizing seeing the scrunch in her forehead melt away, the doubt in her gorgeous eyes flee as her mouth fell open and tight whimpers slipped out. As soon as it was over, she was on her feet and running to the bathroom.

But she liked it, she admitted afterward, his nose pressed against her nape. Though tired, his hand still roamed her body, gently squeezing her tits and coaxing her nipple to tighten into a berry. She liked it very much but it was very awkward for her.

The following month, he walked up to Brienne in the bedroom, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of her bare thighs and long legs under her skirt before slipping a hand underneath. He was surprised to find her cunt pleasingly plump. She reddened and gasped they couldn’t. There was panic in her eyes and her cheeks burned redder by the second. He didn’t press but yes, he was disappointed. He reassured her with a kiss and whispered he will wait until she was up for it.

They were at the end of the month and Brienne had yet to refuse him for that reason. _He should have known._ He had been way. . .too happy, probably, at the verdict and Brienne never mentioning the original agreement they had for getting married. He attributed the gentle fullness of her tits and the shy roundness of her hips to being able to eat healthy food regularly. She was less scrawny than before.

“But if the first test is negative and it’s been five days. . . ” He was confused.

“Tests have a high accuracy but they’re not one hundred percent. I looked it up online. And it says on the box.” Her phone buzzed and she jumped. “It’s time.”

He joined her. His mind was a muddle right now but it didn’t mean he’ll be in the sidelines while she dealt with this unexpected development. He took her hand and discovered it was clammy. She squeezed back, almost crushing his. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the second stick.

“N-negative,” she whispered.

“Okay. Two negatives.” Jaime nodded. “That’s. . .I mean, it’s not bad, right?”

“I—I suppose. Jaime, I swear I’ve not missed a single pill. I take it correctly.” Her eyes betrayed her anxiety and Jaime felt sick realizing that she thought he would be angry at her.

“Wench, come on,” he said, pulling her close. _She was shaking and sweating all over._ Her cheek felt cool and moist. “You know I don’t think that.”

“This has never happened before,” she wailed.

“A lot of what’s happened is unlike anything you’ve had. Come here.” He urged her to rest her chin on his shoulder. He embraced her, rubbing her back to ease the tremors from her body. Fuck, her shirt was heavily damp.

Despite the tension between them, their lips met in a kiss. Brienne’s hands lay loosely on his chest as her dry, chapped lips rubbed against his. He held her by the hips, gently rocking her against his growing arousal. He breathed in her sweat and fear, kissing her harder and deeper to banish them.

They were still kissing when Brienne’s phone buzzed again. They froze. Jaime could hear the seams of his shirt beginning to tear because of the tightness of her grip. She leaned her forehead on his and closed her eyes. Her phone continued to ring the alarm.

Jaime kept an arm around her as he picked up the test. He took a deep breath.

“Negative.”

Brienne sagged in his arms so heavily he thought she had fainted. “Oh, gods,” she groaned.

“Come on. I think we both need to lay down.”

He felt her nod before she pulled away. She turned off the alarm and looked at him, revealing her glazed, wide eyes but not exactly focusing. He pulled her to the bedroom and had her sit down. Her t-shirt clung to her, showing the tight press of her nipples and growing sweat stains under her arms, her back, around her neckline. She was going to end up with fever if she didn’t relax so he started removing the sweaty clothes from her, including her track pants. They were the color of bright blue. The waistband was nearly black from sweat. She looked away in embarrassment as he pulled off her panties. They were also damp with sweat

Jaime took her robe from the chair and draped it over her. She huddled under it and let him hold her against his chest. She was still trembling.

“It’s alright,” he told her, rubbing her shoulders, dropping kisses on random parts of her face. “Wench, it’s alright. We’re not. . .there’s no baby.”

“But I’m so fucking late,” she whispered. “It’s not. . .it’s not normal.”

“This has never happened before?”

“No. Not even when Dad died. I’m always regular.”

“We can go to the doctor, have it checked—”

_“No.”_

The sharpness of her reply had him looking at her curiously. Brienne flushed although her pallor remained pale.

“J-Jaime, I’m—I still remember too well the last time I was examined. I’m just. . .I’m not yet comfortable getting prodded or having to undress before a total stranger.”

“Of course,” he agreed. That was one memory he wished to forget. That was the first time she had really reached out to him, gave him her trust. But she had to be punished first to do it.  “But. . .if it’s still not. . .Brienne, we’ll have to get you examined.”

She groaned and pressed her face against his neck.

“Let’s discuss it later.” He wasn’t feeling too good himself—there was too much oxygen entering his system yet he felt dizzy. He pulled her down the bed with him, his hold around her secure. Half her body lay on top of him but he didn’t dislodge her, nor did he want to. Her hand climbed to his chest, resting right on top of his heart. He put his hand over hers.

“Your heart is beating so fast.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry, Jaime.”

“What for?” He watched her raise her head to look at him. “Hey, wench. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“B-But we said. . .we said from the start,” she cleared her throat, flushing, “that there would be no baby.”

“And there is no baby.” He said, feeling his throat well up.

“What if—what if—Jaime I _promise_ you,” Brienne suddenly sat up, making him feel bereft and alone despite the mere inches between them. “I never—I _always_ take the Pill. I _never_ miss it—”

Jaime felt sick again. He sat up too. “Not for one second did I think that, Brienne.” She was looking at her lap, clearly devastated. He put a finger under her chin to coax her into looking at him. Watery blue eyes stared back. “And if you were pregnant—”

His voice faltered. Yes, what if Brienne was pregnant?

Having a child was never part of their agreement. He wouldn’t do that to her. As ambivalent as he felt right now at the idea of Brienne with child, _his_ child, he knew he would feel like shit for putting her in that situation. Brienne’s whole life lay just ahead and she had been derailed for so long, and so cruelly. Music was her life and he was going to do everything within his power that it remained so.

They would have to explore more certain means of contraception, that’s all, he decided. The burden of the responsibility shouldn’t just be on her but also on him. At least he should start pulling out. Stock up on condoms right away. Brienne was not going anywhere, was she?

_She has not asked me about our arrangement. Maybe she wants to give this marriage a chance._

He didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or reach out and shake her. Why won’t she still tell him she loved him? Why did she still keep it a secret? What was she so afraid of?

She might be waiting for me to bring it up, he realized.

Jaime started feeling dizzy again.

 

*******

Brienne up woke up earlier than her usual time the following day. She was curled up against Jaime’s back, and he held her hand to his chest. For a few seconds, she just stared sleepily at the thick, golden waves of his hair, smelling his faded aftershave and slight sweat.

Waiting for the results of the pregnancy tests had been harrowing. Brienne had felt a fear unlike anything before—it was nothing like the kind she felt on the floor of Roose’s study, or the one that gripped her as she waited for the verdict. She could face Jaime’s anger but not him thinking she had gone behind his back and got herself pregnant.

They slept on and off through the night. They tried talking about the possibility of her being pregnant but that was unresolved. She didn’t want to press because she still had to get used to the idea she wasn’t pregnant. There should be relief but nothing. Oh, she felt _something_. She just didn’t know what it was, if it even had a name.

She felt Jaime leave the bed at one point, but he only left long enough to get rid of his jeans and climb back in beside her wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. She too left a while later to pee. She must have awakened him because when she returned to his side, he was quick to put an arm around her waist and haul her close to his chest. Before she fell asleep, his hand slipped in the opening of her robe and clutched at her breast.

She took care extricating her arm from his body, not wanting to wake him. Jaime still stirred, but remained unmoving. She kissed him on the shoulder and slid off the bed as quietly as she could then went to the bathroom.

The tests were still on the sink. She stared at them, confused at the. . . _loss_ she felt. Why did she feel this way? She couldn’t understand it. Why was there loss? She was never pregnant. They agreed never to have children. He married her to save her. That’s it.

_You should have remembered that before loving him._

She quickly turned away from the mirror and sat on the toilet. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Jaime’s baby. She didn’t know if she wanted _a_ baby. But if there was one, right now, she wouldn’t be completely averse to it. That she was sure about.

She blinked and gasped at the trickle of tears. _Gods, what a fool you are._ Hastily, she swiped her fist across her eyes. She sniffed, trying to stop more from coming. Her vision clear, she tore some toilet paper sheets from the roll to wipe herself clean. As she did, she felt an odd stickiness. She frowned and looked between her legs.

Well. She was definitely not pregnant. She got more sheets and wiped herself.

She removed her robe and stepped in the shower.  Despite the warm water, she was shivering. She was quick to shampoo her hair and soap her body, doing the latter so roughly that her skin was pink, the water stinging as she rinsed. She took a tampon from the medicine cabinet.

Jaime was coming awake, rolling to her side of the bed and raising his head as she reached the top of the stairs. “Wench,” he said, raising himself up on an elbow, his gaze and smile sleepy but warm. He may just be looking at her but it was enough for her knees to wobble, for her breath to stutter.

“Hi.”

“Come here,” he held out his hand and she tried to be not too quick or eager to go to him. She laced her fingers through his as she sat beside him, closing her eyes as he kissed her. He tasted of sleep and home. She sank against him, drawing a soft groan from his throat as he caught her around the waist and pulled her down on top of him. They kissed for a while until she pulled away, slipping beside him.

“How are you?” He asked quietly, smoothing her rough, damp hair from her cheek.

She stared at him, for the first time realizing she must lie. Her cheeks warmed. “I’m fine. You?”

“I’m great.”

She couldn’t resent him. She didn’t. It was the truth. But it was also the truth that she wished he had another answer. Since this morning was going to be a day of confusion and ambivalence, she didn’t know what she wanted him to say.

“You must be starving. What do you want for breakfast?” His hand delved in the opening of her robe, his fingers warm on the damp skin of her stomach.

“I can have anything I want?” She asked, deciding to play along.

“Brienne.” He was suddenly serious. “Tell me the truth. How are you this morning?”

She dropped her eyes to his chest for a second as she touched the golden curls peeking from the neckline of his shirt. “My period’s come.”

“Oh.” Jaime blinked. “So.”

He cleared his throat and she stared at him.

“That’s great. It means we don’t have to see a doctor. That’s good. Really good.” He seemed to speak to himself. “So, uh. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Eggs.”

“Eggs?”

“Yeah. An omelette. An extra muddy one.”

He smiled and she felt her heart swell. _I really love him._ She just wished it didn’t make her miserable and desperate. That she didn’t want him so much.

“Peppers, onions, tomatoes?” He was offering to get her food but pulling her close to his body again. She blushed as he pushed part of her robe away to caress her freckled shoulder.

“Yeah. Dragged through the garden.”

She breathed his name as he kissed her bared shoulder. When he started to move away, she held him fast. “Brienne?”

“Stay. Just for a while?” She asked, hoping she didn’t sound so needy. “It’s still early.”

“Of course.” He lay back down.

If Jaime was thinking she wanted to cuddle, she proved him wrong. Brienne threw her leg over his hips and kissed him deeply on the mouth, enjoying his grunt of surprise. His fingers pushed through her hair. She nibbled at his lips, as he would do to her, raked her teeth across the wetter, more sensitive inside of his lower lip before biting it playfully.

She kissed down his throat, loving the scrape of his morning stubble on her forehead as she pulled at the collar of his shirt to attack his collarbones. He breathed sharply, deeply. She nuzzled her nose down his chest, pushing his shirt up until she could flick her tongue on his golden nipples. Her fingers fluttered down his ribs, followed by her lips. She kissed his abs, encouraged by the tensing of his muscles, his groans.

She rose a little on her knees to pull his boxers down. Through her hair falling over her eyes, she gazed at Jaime. Half-closed emeralds watched her. He swallowed hard, quickly, repeatedly. “Do you want me to, Jaime?” She whispered, pausing in her actions.

“Gods, Brienne. _Don’t stop_.”

She blushed and tossed the boxers away.

Jaime’s cock was thick and getting thicker, longer. It was as beautiful and elegant as the rest of him, a hard column of pinkish flesh surrounded by golden curls, with heavy, plump balls. Brienne’s hand shook as she grasped the shaft, angling it for the swoop of her mouth. Her thumb traced the thick vein on the side of his penis, drawing a grunt from Jaime. Gently, she stroked him, watching his eyes close and his lips parting. Her name hung between hisses and gasps.

When her tongue circled the head of his cock, Jaime suddenly stiffened before jerking against her. The tendons in his shoulders stood out, the veins in his neck tensed as her wet, sucking kisses revived and destroyed him. Her licks were shy but the expression on her face was of hunger, of yearning. His flavor covered her tongue, layered with the slight salt of pre-cum.

 _“Brienne.”_  He sounded both agonized and pleased.

She opened her mouth, closing around the perfectly round head of his cock. Up and down her head bobbed, gentle and matched with leisurely kisses of her mouth. She continued to stroke up and down his cock, raising it a little to take a deep whiff of his balls. A shudder broke through her at this intimate scent only she knew. Then she lipped them, her kisses gentle but driving Jaime to squeeze his eyes shut.

 _“Fuck. Brienne.”_  He opened his eyes briefly to paw at her hair. A soft pull and he pulled her away, bringing her back to his cock. His hand joined hers on his cock as he pointed it toward her mouth. Eagerly, she wrapped her lips around him and sucked.

He tasted good, really good. The slight salt of his flesh, the velvety texture of his hard cock tickling her tongue, the back of her throat. Up and down his cock her head moved. His cock glistened brighter with her saliva at every slide.

She lost herself in the taste and sensation of Jaime, closing her eyes in rapture. She never enjoyed giving oral sex until Jaime. Before she only did it to distract a boyfriend from fucking her. Now she knew that the greatest pleasure was in giving it, and for Jaime, she would give, always.

His hand grabbing and tapping her shoulder alerted her. His breathing was harsher and he was growling her name. But as she had always done with him, she tightened her mouth around his cock. Jaime groaned, his entire body tensing before he jetted in her mouth. She moaned, gagging instinctively before swallowing greedily.

The deep, sucking motions of her mouth continued even after Jaime collapsed weakly on the bed, his arms wide open. He took deep, slow breaths. His cock softened, resting warm and heavy on her tongue. With great reluctance, she released him. Vivid scarlet colored her face and neck, her eyes were bright with dilated pupils. She was still messy with swallowing—semen trickled down the side of her mouth down to her neck. She used the sleeve of her robe to wipe herself clean.

Jaime, limp and with a drunken smile on his face, looked at her and said, “I thought you wanted eggs for breakfast, wench, not sausage.”

Though she reddened some more, she retorted, “I thought to have an appetizer.”

Jaime gave her a weary thumbs-up sign. “You sure did, wench.”

 

*****

In spite of Brienne’s naughty wake-up incentive, close to two months went without them engaging in anything more than quick, awkward kisses. In sleep they kept a polite distance but as the night deepened, their bodies would move toward each other. They woke up entwined, Jaime’s hand resting firmly on the warmth between her legs or Brienne lying half on top of him, filling his ear with her bear-like snores.

Conversation was never a problem, as well as laughter. But they couldn’t speak about the pregnancy scare because neither knew how to approach it. The idea of a baby with Brienne was not unwelcome, Jaime would come to realize, but the timing as well as the clarity of who he was and where he stood with her were far from ideal. He was losing sleep wondering when she would tell him again, under darkness, that she loved him. If she couldn’t look at him when she said it, then he’ll take her whispers in the dark.

Brienne was staying longer in school because of preparations for her practical and written exams—she could easily study at home but home meant Jaime and though she loved him, she felt as if she was in front of a firing squad. Her mind was filled with images of her husband looking grim and their prenup in his hands. It had a clause that clearly stated the reasons for their marriage and what she would benefit from the arrangement. Another was they were to never have a child.

She didn’t _not_ want a child but they still had things to settle with their. . .relationship. They were fools to think all they had was an arrangement, she realized. But she was too scared to broach the subject with Jaime. She trusted him. She just didn’t trust herself to deal with the fallout.

One morning, Jaime woke up first. He stared at Brienne, curled on her side as she slept. Her soft, clean, soapy scent washed over him—he didn’t have to take a deep breath to be soaked in it. A whiff and it was in his system, arrowing toward his cock and making it rise toward her. He shuddered, seized by the surprise and the thrill of a hard-on so quick. His hand shook as it touched her warm cheek.

“Brienne,” he whispered, leaning close. “Sweetheart.”

A month, three weeks and six days since they last touched. Though things seemed normal after the tests turned out negative, there was tension. He never stopped desiring his wife but he felt that they both needed some space. He didn’t think they’d need it so much that it would go for as long as it had. They should talk about the non-pregnancy but he didn’t know how and worried that if he made the first move, he’d say something either insensitive or shoot him up the Asshole Hall of Fame.

“Wench,” he continued whispering, brushing kisses around her face. _“Brienne.”_

Her forehead wrinkled. “Hmm.”

He pushed the blanket away from her, glancing at the nightshirt pooled high on her long legs before tugging it up. He palmed her cunt, groaning at the welcoming warmth and roughness of her pubic hairs. “Brienne, wake up.”

He caressed her clit, causing her to moisten and ease the entry of his finger. She whined in her sleep and her legs tightened instinctively around his hand. He pushed them apart, fucking her gently. He tongued a nipple through her shirt until the fabric was soaked and pressed like second skin. Her breathing quickened.

Finally, her stunning blue eyes opened. Sleepy and soft, they stared at him with mild confusion. “Jaime?” she slurred.

He answered by taking her mouth. Her lips were dry and her breath was stale but he sank hard against her body, his cock prodded insistently against her bared thigh. She gasped softly but her hands were firm on his shoulders, a long, smooth leg teased the suddenly sensitive line of his own leg before settling high on his hip. As they kissed, his fingers began fucking her faster.

She suddenly ripped her lips from him, her mouth opening and closing as she gasped loudly. As his fingers swept her cunt wider to fuck her, his other hand pulled at the loose neckline of her shirt. Understanding what he wanted, she grasped it in her hands and tore it. Jaime groaned at the sight of her little breasts. Freckles scattered around her chest, her tits suggestions of a rise instead of soft, womanly swells. Her nipples. Gods, her nipples. Pink and so sweet. He eagerly took one in his mouth, sucking harshly to pull another gasp from her.

He devoured her tits without mercy, dragging one nipple at a time in his mouth, coaxing the soft buds to tighten. Every kiss and flick of his tongue on her tits was a vow, that he would be with her always, and a plea for her be with him. He was relentless, lips clamped around a swollen nipple as she whispered it was becoming too much. He pressed a gentle kiss on the red nub, moving up to take her mouth. He watched her watching him through half-closed eyes as they kissed and he hoped, with all his heart, she would tell him _now._ His fingers returned to her cunt, pleased to find her dripping.

But it was his name rather than those three words that fell from her lips, a whine like a broken cello string rather than a song. His kisses faltered yet his fingers continued fucking her cunt, the rough, wet sounds sweet, sweet music. She was breathtakingly unyielding but the way she opened her legs and thrust against his fingers was welcoming. His cock, leaking as it rubbed against her thigh, begged to be reunited with her cunt after so fucking long. He missed her tongue sparring with him too much, the clutch of her cunt around his fingers. His thumb manipulated her clit, feeling it stiffen, making her squeal. Her eyes were round and dark as her hips moved against him at their own accord, taking his fingers deeper.

Her face was red and uglier yet she was beautiful to him. She was _perfect._ Jaime pulled his fingers out and forced them in her swollen mouth, watching her eyes widen in shock. He had to take her gently by the jaw so she had no choice but to accept his fingers and taste the secret of her heart. His eyes burned like wildfyre as she got acquainted with her flavor, on him, her eyes closing as she sucked and swallowed. He came close to coming at the sight of her newfound enjoyment.

“I want to fuck you.” He didn’t hide the desperation in his voice. “Let me fuck you.” He wished to fuck her for days, to be lost in the warmth and heart of her.

Brienne opened her eyes. He gasped at the silver-tinged flames of her gaze. Taking a page off his book, she grabbed him by the hip and pulled him down. He smiled in relief before shoving his tongue in her mouth, his hand sliding between them for his fingers to resume their ferocious plunder of her cunt. She stiffened, sensitive now. But she wrapped her legs around him again and kissed him back. She was fierce, pushing against him, the rustle of the sheets under her hips a chorus to the fingers strumming the wet hairs of her slit.

Tremors swept through her body, driving her to cling harder to him with her arms and legs. Jaime buried his face in her neck momentarily before rising to look in her eyes, imploring that she tell him, now. He won’t leave if she trusted him. _Let me hear the words._

No words came but cries, whimpering, sexy nonsense that made his cock so hard he was grimacing and sweating from the pain. He yanked her legs over his shoulders, taking some smug delight in the surprise and uncertainty on her face. She blushed anew upon realizing how open and vulnerable she was in the position. Good. Because he was unarmored. He was wide open too.

He was rough in spreading her cunt lips open and rougher when he rammed inside her in one thrust. She growled, shutting her eyes briefly at the intensity of their joining. He didn’t let her catch a breath, his hips immediately adopting a frantic pace that made her blush some more and look disbelievingly at how her cunt easily took his cock. Her eyes, so beautiful, his weakness, drove him to bury his face in her shoulder. As his cock got lost in the tightness of her, he bathed in the scent and feel of her—sweat, supple skin, freckles. The tight muscles of her cunt squeezed and rippled around him, a sweet and heady invitation to sweet, complete surrender. He didn’t resist. He could never resist. He didn’t care if it made him a weak man. He was with her. It was the only thing that mattered.

He groaned against her ear as he felt the first waves of his release. As the tension built up, he turned, opening his mouth to sink his teeth on her firm shoulder as it peaked. She jerked from the bite, her nails burrowing in his shoulders in both retaliation and pleasure. Harsh breathing and slaps of sweaty flesh came from their bodies as they rode through the waves, finishing with a violent shudder. He rested his entire weight on her, listening to their breathing gentle. Then he pushed himself up, brought her legs back down before returning her head on his chest. She cradled him against her, holding him securely and it almost made him laugh. He should be the one protecting her.

He captured a small breast, circling a finger on the turgid nipple to incite a soft moan from her. His lips brushed lazily on her half-open mouth.

“Do you have to go to school today?” He kissed down her throat until reaching her tits. He covered them with more kisses, wetted her nipples with his tongue.

“I—I have one last exam.” He thought she sounded disappointed.

Still kissing her breasts, he said, “Oh. I forgot.”

He was getting hard again but he wasn’t going to fuck her. Not now. But he was reluctant in removing himself from her, and the doubt in her eyes didn’t make it easy for him to stick to that decision. He pulled her up, feeling some enjoyment and satisfaction at the sight of her all flushed and sweaty still, her nipples red and glistening. She looked wonderfully ragged and sweetly well-fucked with her soft, sleepy sapphires and her sleepshirt torn and useless.

“Let’s go, sweetheart,” he said, smiling as she blushed at the endearment. “I’ll drive you.”

“Jaime?” She asked as he turned away.

There was something in her voice. His heart slammed into a stop for a second before resuming its beating. _She’s going to tell me now._ He looked at her.

Her eyes were big and unsure. She clutched the blanket to her chest. “Jaime, I—I—”

“Yes?”

“I love—I would love it,” and she took a deep breath. “I would love it if you’ll join me later? I’m sorry for telling you just now but you remember Jaqen? He’s invited us to watch him play with his band. It’s like an end-of-the-term celebration.”

He was so disappointed that he couldn’t hide it. Brienne looked apologetic. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Yes, you should have.”

He stood up and so did she, still covering herself. “So. . .”

“I’ll still be there.” He managed to say, amazed that he wasn’t choking over the words.

 

*****

Brienne dragged her bow across the strings, lingering on the last note. Her fingers pressed on the strings on the neck, increasing the tension towards the end. Satisfied that she got the intended effect, she gradually relaxed, guiding the composition to a quiet end.

“That,” said Professor Davos Seaworth, “was extraordinary, Brienne. Astounding effort. You really have the gift.”

Her face and neck warmed in pleasure over her teacher’s praise. She smiled shyly. “Th-thank you, professor.”

Professor Seaworth’s kind, pale blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he returned her smile. “I look forward to your first solo performance, Brienne. And a front-row seat.”

Brienne flushed even more. Professor Seaworth proceeded to give her more notes regarding her practical exam and she made sure to remember each of them. Done, she left the room and ushered the next student inside.

She leaned against the door, letting out several deep breaths. She had done it. She survived the first semester of her return. And, if she were really confident, had aced her finals.

Wearily, she picked up her cello case and walked down the hallway. It was still afternoon—three, to be exact, according to her watch. She texted Missandei her last exam was done and now she was going home to take a nap. Studying and practicing had been keeping her late in school. Now she could rest. She texted Jaime next, telling him she was done with her exams and on her way home for a nap. The celebration at The Red Door looked like to be an all-nighter so she’ll have to be well-rested for that. She hoped Jaime could join her too.

Since her pregnancy scare, they had been kind of tiptoeing around each other. The great thing about them was they never ran out of things to talk about and had a genuine interest in each other’s work. They were okay in that department. But the sex—which she never thought in her life could be so integral to what they had, whatever it was—had been missed. She missed coming home to Jaime’s amorous kisses and hands loosening her clothes, falling asleep resting on his warm chest, legs tangled around his and sticky and smeared from their fucking. When he woke her up the way he had this morning, she thought she had been dreaming. She felt most complete when he was inside her.

But she sensed something in him—she didn’t know what it was—only that he seemed to be. . .expecting something from her. They still haven’t talked about what happened. He had been unusually quiet too during the drive to school. When she asked if he was alright, he told her he was and kissed her. She wouldn’t have let him off easily—she may be a bad liar but she knew when she was being lied to—but she had two more exams.

They had to talk about what happened. She wasn’t looking forward to opening a possible can of worms but something had changed between them and had to be addressed. If only she wasn’t scared to take the first step.

Brienne walked a block to the subway, more than eager to take a seat and just clear her mind for the ten-minute ride. From there, she walked two more blocks. She passed by Jaime’s favorite patisserie and got some treats before continuing her way home.

Jaime’s car was parked across the street so he was probably at home. She expected him to be still out—she knew he went to the park for a couple of hours every day and also did errands. She was smiling as she unlocked the door, remembering overhearing an argument between Margaery and Jaime where he was being pressured to get an assistant. Her husband was rich but he was particularly stingy over things he deemed as unnecessary expense. Before she returned to school, she spent the afternoon posing for him and they would fuck afterwards. Jaime didn’t like having another person underfoot that required him to check on his behavior when he itched to grab his wife’s ass.

There was a pile of mail so she picked them up before unlocking the next door. She held the package of warm chocolate chip cookies between her teeth, the mail tucked under the arm of the hand holding the cello. The door opened with a squeak, drawing Jaime’s eyes from the piece he was working on.

“Wench,” he exclaimed, quickly discarding his paintbrush to the side and racing toward her. He took the mail from her mouth and her cello. Murmuring her thanks, Brienne held the cookies and turned to close the door.

“You’re home early,” he said, carefully putting down her cello and tossing the mail on the table. She blushed as he put his arms around her waist, smiling. “And you smell so fucking good.”

“I’m done with my exams. Didn’t you get my text?” She asked, giggling as he rubbed his scruff against her neck.

“Sorry. I’ve been working all day.” Still holding her, Jaime looked up. “You’re done with your tests? All your tests?”

She nodded. “I don’t believe it either.”

“I do,” he declared. “Seven Hells, Brienne, congratulations. I’m proud of you.”

“Really?” She asked. “You know, because I was told I did well in one exam but you have to include my performance during other times in the semester and I don’t know. . .”

“Wench, wench,” Jaime cupped her face in his hands. She purred at the scent of turpentine and charcoal from them. “I believe in you. You’re nothing but wonderful. How many times do I have to tell you that?” As she flushed, he added, “Someday, you’ll see I’m right.”

He kissed her on the lips and she leaned against him. The crumpling sound reminded her of what she held. Jaime laughed as she awkwardly held up the bag of chocolate chip cookies.

“I had a sudden craving for cookies and milk before taking a nap. You didn’t forget about tonight, did you?” She said, reluctant to leave his arms. But she did anyway, first removing her coat then heading to the kitchen to put the cookies on a plate.

“Of course not. I look forward to it. I’ve never been to a jazz club before.”

“Me neither.”

Brienne put the cookies on the plate and poured them milk. She joined Jaime at the table. She was tired but a little hungry. She also didn’t want to pass up spending some time with him before taking a nap.

They ate quietly, exchanging soft kisses and murmuring in between bites. Brienne saw his painting past his shoulder and blushed heavily. Catching it, Jaime grinned then turned to see what she was looking at.

It was a nude painting of her. She was sitting on their bed, playing her cello. Her tousled hair and soft expression indicated she just woke up or was still languorous from sex. Her hold on the bow was loose and her legs were a wide, wanton spread, giving a glimpse of her blond cunt behind the instrument. She was not shy about posing nude but felt different seeing herself through Jaime’s eyes, in the canvas.

“Let’s take a closer look, wench,” Jaime took her hand and pulled her up. Brienne was blushing heavily. She gripped his hand firmly as she shuffled behind him.

It wasn’t the first time she saw herself in his painting. She should be used to it by now but she couldn’t because he didn’t seem to have one way of looking at her.  She got that he rendered her with strength and angles, rather than curves and softness yet the effect was always sensual. It was the expressions on her face that Jaime had no trouble capturing and confounded her. Was she really that happy? Or that thoughtful? How come her gaze looked so far away? What was she dreaming about at the exact moment he drew her like so?

It scared her that he saw her so. . .naked. That he probably knew her better than she knew herself.

Jaime must have sensed her unease because he kissed her on the cheek as they neared the painting. Closer and she saw that despite the softness on her face, her eyes danced with mischief. She remembered. A little before he had her pose they have been laughing. About what escaped her right now but she laughed so hard her belly ached. Then when he started painting her, Jaime got annoyed because she would shake with barely restrained laughter, upsetting the pose. The disgruntled expression on his face was too much that she gave in to another bout of laughter, with him just looking on and exasperated.

“I’m thinking of calling it ‘Wench,’” he said as they stood in front of it. He was grinning. “You were full wench that day.”

“Jaime, if you make that nickname public I’ll castrate you,” she told him. He chuckled and slipped an arm around her waist, kissing her on the shoulder.

“Consider me warned. Wench.”

She pinched him playfully on the cheek and kissed him. “I’ll leave you to your work. If I’m going to be any fun tonight, I need to nap.”

“Alright. Go. You deserve it.”

They kissed again. As Brienne climbed up the stairs, the doorbell rang. She paused and started going down. Jaime gestured her to stay and went ahead to answer the door. He pressed a button on the wall. “Who is it?”

“It’s your Father.”

Big blue eyes met narrowed green eyes. Jaime sighed loudly and opened the door. Brienne quickly checked if her sweater was straight before realizing they left the cookies and milk on the table. It was too late to try telling Jaime to stall their visitor so she simply dumped what was left of their milk in the sink. At that moment, Tywin Lannister swept into the loft.

Brienne gulped. Jaime was an arresting and striking figure who could rule any room he was in without lifting a finger. Tywin Lannister, on the other hand, owned any room he was in and convey immense displeasure. Jaime crossed his arms as they sized up each other, making Brienne feel that someone would pulling out a gun. She hurried to his side.

“Brienne,” Tywin greeted her first. Brienne must have mumbled back because he nodded. She considered herself lucky for having only a few encounters with her father-in-law.

She reached for Jaime’s hand and he squeezed hers. She squeezed back.

“Six months.” Tywin said, glowering at them. His frosty glare lingered on Jaime.

“What about six months?” Jaime asked.

“Six months since I last saw either of you. I read about the verdict from the papers. Found out about the celebration afterward through Tyrion. And now. . .” He stared at Brienne’s breasts and belly. “It seems somebody isn’t pregnant.” He stared at her, noticing her blush, before he glared at Jaime again. “You said she’s pregnant.”

Oh, fuck, the world was after their ass. Brienne opened her mouth to defend Jaime but he was quicker.

“I said no such thing. I said I believed she might be. She was only late. Pregnant or not, I still married her.”

She found herself wondering if Jaime will add something else but he didn’t.

“How old are you, Brienne?” Tywin demanded.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Jaime interjected.

“It’s just her age.”

“It’s rude.”

“I only want to know.”

“Why do you care about her age?”

Fearing that father and son would come to blows, Brienne squeezed Jaime’s hand as she answered, “Um, I’m twenty-four, Tywin.”

Tywin now looked at her.

“Twenty-four. That’s young.” He shot Jaime an accusing look. “Why isn’t she pregnant?”

j“Oh, gods,” Brienne blurted out while Jaime thundered, “What the actual fuck, Father?”

“I don’t appreciate gutter language, young man.” He gestured at Brienne dismissively. “You’re excused. You didn’t have the education he had. I’m here because you have not seen me nor made dany contact with me for six months. The first month was forgivable. I thought you were doing your job in contributing to the Lannister legacy, Jaime.”

There was no stopping the wall of red that spread from her forehead down to her toes at those words. Jaime stiffened.

“But not once did you contact me to at least let me know if you’re still alive. But I should be used to such behavior from my sons.” Tywin spat out the last word.

Brienne was not really surprised. Jaime, Tyrion, and even Margaery had mentioned that the best way to describe Tywin Lannister was ‘difficult.’ The man was a tyrant and demanding, a perfectionist in possession of a sharp mind and a way with words comparable to the efficiency of an uzi automatic.

She respected Tywin because he was her elder and her husband’s father. But she would never understand how he abandoned Jaime during his darkest hours. Her own father was a man of very few words but she knew that no matter what kind of trouble she got in, he would be there for her.

Tywin was the opposite of that. He regarded his sons not as sons but as opportunities to contribute to the Lannister legacy. He had not initially approved of Tyrion marrying Margaery because, in spite of her background, the Tyrells were now poor. Siring sons from her swung some of Tywin’s favor in their direction. He was hardly pleased when Jaime announced their engagement because Brienne would bring nothing to the marriage but when told of the possibility of her pregnancy, he reluctantly got onboard.

That she can understand. What made Tywin Lannister a horrible person in her eyes was not his reluctance to fight Roose—another point he made against Jaime marrying her—but that he had regarded Jaime’s alcoholism and sexual assault by Cersei as something to be ashamed about and swept under the rug.

To have him in their home, being accused of not caring enough about him, tagged him a hypocrite. She looked at Jaime, knowing he should be the one to respond although she had one at the tip of her tongue.

“Do we always have to call you to be there?” Jaime pointed out quietly.

Tywin, expending an incendiary reply, looked taken aback.

“Because we never had to call or Olenna. Or Bronn. Even Lollys who’s about to pop out a baby any day was there. The Starks. Do we have to call you so you can make time for us in your blasted appointment book?”

Jaime knew just where to strike. Tywin opened his mouth to protest but then closed it. He glanced at Brienne and she saw what looked to be remorse overtake his face before it cleared, once again a steely mask.

“Why do we have to call? Why didn’t you call? Where were you when that fucking Roose Bolton was sullying my wife’s name in court? Or did you also conveniently forget what he did to her?”

Jaime looked ready to lunge forward, possibly to hit Tywin. Brienne quickly put a hand on his chest and he jerked, looking at  her with surprise. “It’s okay,”she mouthed and he seemed about to protest but saw her eyes imploring him to remain calm. Slowly, he came back to himself, nodding quickly as he did.

Tywin was watching them when she turned back to him. The coldness in his gaze had thawed but he was clearly still on the defensive.

“It’s nice to see you, Tywin,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. “I just finished my exams. Like, today. In fact, we were just talking about coming over to see you.”

She heard Jaime gulp and she blushed.

Her little lie mollified Tywin because he smiled.

“I apologize for my behavior, Brienne. Jaime’s. . .right.” Those two sentences were probably the most difficult he had ever spoken, and he looked like he would rather swallow needles. “I should not have asked you about your age nor demanded why. . . you’re not pregnant. It’s none of my business.” He sniffed. “I hope you accept my apology.”

“Of course,” she assured him.

She gently nudged at Jaime to speak. When she checked on him, he had a stunned expression on his face. _What now?_

“So. You were thinking of calling me?” Tywin asked gently. “I hope it was to invite me to dinner.”

Brienne had to stop herself from cocking an eyebrow at his very unsubtle manipulation. Unfortunately, she was cornered and as hard as her mind tried to scramble for an appropriate response, it wouldn’t work any further.

“Uh. . . actually. . . ”

“Yes?” Tywin asked hopefully.

“We were. . .uh. . .thinking if you could join us. . .and a few friends later. . .”

 

*****  
It was always a pleasure watching Brienne undress or in this instance, get dressed. She was a curious mix of bold and shy with her body—zero doubts when disrobing before him for a pose yet blushing unceasingly when stripping for fucking. Jaime was between Seven Heavens and Seven Hells as Brienne walked around their closet wearing full black panties and sheer black pantyhose. His breathing quickened staring at her kiss-swollen lips and her normally puffy nipples still tight and reddish from his kisses.

She managed to get her nap, until Jaime, still restless from Tywin’s surprise visit, went to their room, aroused and frustrated. She heard him stomping up the stairs and probably knew what to expect because she was yawning and half-naked when he arrived. No sweet kisses and rousing caresses this time—he just dropped his pants and was in her, surprised to find her gloriously wet. They fucked for two hours and napped for an hour. It was Brienne who woke him up, a vision in a towel and smelling wonderfully of soap and water. He was hard. A look passed between them then she was on his lap.

Jaime tried to focus on the infuriation he’d been feeling since Tywin left but it was fucking difficult. At least he was sitting down but focusing on the kind of mood he had to be in was a harder challenge. Harder was the word, alright. His cock refused to give him—or Brienne—any rest. It had yet to forgive them both for the drought.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he said for probably the thousandth time. “My father with artists in some smoky jazz bar is not a recipe for disaster, wench. It’s a fucking catastrophe.”

Brienne rolled her eyes and selected a cap-sleeved indigo dress from the closet. She held it up against her and glanced at him. He shook his head and she put it back in the closet. Despite his mood, his grin was devilish. She didn’t seem to realize that he was pretending to disapprove of her clothing choices to keep her naked longer.

When Brienne pulled out a black-and-white printed skirt, she didn’t look to him for approval anymore, though. She put it on and he swallowed a groan as she bent in front of him. Next, she wrenched on a black baby t-shirt that hugged her broad form. She picked a black sweater, turning to face him as she put it on. As her pale hair popped out of the neckline, Jaime, reclaiming his senses, continued, “I mean, wench, you could have just told him we’ll call him when we’re free. Or meet him some other time.”

He wiped the sweat from his brow, frowning at it.

“Notice something?” She remarked, putting a hand on her hip. Her hair was tousled and she looked annoyed and so fucking sexy at the same time. The Seven had cursed him with this woman. She loved him but would never tell him to his face. What if he told her he loved her, right this very moment? It was so tempting and he could almost taste it. Her stormy blue eyes told him this was not the time.

 “What?”

“You keep saying ‘you,’ ‘you,’ ‘you.’ It’s not like you were your usual vocal self earlier, Jaime.”

He flushed but refused to admit she was right. “Still, you could have said something else.”

“What was I supposed to say?” She demanded, throwing up her hands. “Jaime, I know it’s. . .it’s difficult between you and your father. But he was here. He would benefit from a week in charm school, for starters, but he was here. Your father was here and. . .I saw an opportunity.”

“What opportunity?”

Her bravado suddenly deserted her. Jaime saw her shoulders slump and her lower lip trembled.

“Brienne?”

She sighed loudly and sat beside him on the bench.

“I know I have no business in meddling with you and Tywin. I know that.” She said firmly. “But—I believe you need to talk.”

“Me and Tywin?” Jaime practically squawked. “Talk? Weren’t you here earlier? Does Tywin Lannister talk with people, wench?”

“Maybe because people let him get away with so much why he’s never really spoken with them. Jaime,” she took his hand between hers. “I can only imagine how difficult it is with him. And I _know_ I shouldn’t say this but. . .can’t you give him another chance? Just—try.”

When she looked at him like she was doing now and talking this way, he was a helpless mush. _She has to love me to care this much_. For a minute, he thought of making a deal with her. He’ll give Tywin another chance as long as she told him she loved him, right this very minute. Sense told him this was not the way he should know. Being told in the dark and overhearing it was pure coincidence but to force Brienne—he couldn’t do it. And he wouldn’t. He just wished his patience didn’t run out waiting for her tell him.

“Please, Jaime?” She asked. He waited for her to kiss him or for her hand to dive between his legs. Women always seemed to think they had to manipulate men to get what they wanted. Not all the time. And his wife was too good to resort to that.

As it often went with discovering something new about his wife, Jaime fell deepder in love.

Just for her respecting him enough to just ask and have faith in him, he would do anything.

“I’ll try.”

He didn’t expect her to hug him. “Thank you, Jaime.”

“I still think he should meet us there, wench, instead of him coming over to pick us up.”

“Oh, shush.”

 

*****

Jaqen was up the little stage at The Red Door when they arrived, leading the crowd to an energetic, floor-stomping jazz number. It was a Thursday but the place at capacity and already clouded with smoke and the combined smell of liquor and coffee. Brienne had never been here before so she was already anxious about the kind of impression she would give. Jaime looked right at home, his strides steady despite the darkness and the overwhelming scent of smoke in the air. She gripped his hand tighter, knowing he must be struggling from having a swig of alcohol. _Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him._ She thought. _Or Tywin._

Tywin, bless him, didn’t cast a dismissive nor did he appear to visibly cringe at the surroundings. He was a tad overdressed in his dark charcoal suit and tie, compared to Jaime who was in a forest green fitted sweater and slim pants. Khal stood up, patting Jaime on the back and shaking hands with Tywin. Missandei hugged the Lannister men and kissed them both on the cheeks. Tywin seemed positively dazzled as Missandei pulled away. Then he smiled and with elegant grace, took her hand and said gallantly, “The pleasure is mine.”

Then he kissed her hand. Missandei, thrilled, breathed, “Oh, my. I thought proper gentlemen had gone the way of dragons.”

“Not yet, my dear. May I?” And as Tywin pulled out her chair for her, Missandei glanced at her companions, more impressed than she had been just a second before. Jaime grinned and pulled out a chair for Brienne too. Then he sat down next to her and it was the most natural thing in the world to take her hand and hold it gently in his. She felt very warm all of a sudden. Then he kissed her on the cheek and she felt as if she was standing right on the sun.

“So, Tywin, I’m sure you’ve been to places cooler than this in your day,” Khal said, nodding at him.

“I’m not much for clubs, I’m afraid,” Tywin admitted. “I spent much of my life in boardrooms.”

“Well, I’m sure if you’re the boss it’s loads of fun,” Missandei told him. Brienne had to hide a sigh of relief. They were friendly and trying to make Tywin feel comfortable. So far, they were succeeding.

“So, end of term, guys,” Jaime said. “Where are you off to?”

“Just hanging around. Working,” Missandei replied. “By the way, I was in the Dragon Museum the other day. You have a painting there. ‘Light of the West,’ it was called?”

Brienne wasn’t familiar with the painting. Jaime, still holding her hand, suddenly gripped it.

“Yes.”

“She’s beautiful. Was that your Mom? I notice you look like her.”

“No, it wasn’t my Mom. It’s my sister.”

 _Oh, fuck,_ Brienne thought. Tywin shifted in his seat.

“A sister?” Khal glanced at Brienne. “You never mentioned Jaime has a sister?”

Tywin looked grim. Jaime cleared his throat. “Um, she passed away.”

“Alright!” The singer from Jaqen’s band suddenly bellowed in the microphone. “I want people on the right to go, ‘Say,’ and the ones on the left, ‘Ooh,’ got it? Can we try it out?” She had beautiful, dusky skin and delicate, doll-like features. Her voice also had a sexy, whispery quality that was a caress to the ear.

As the crowd went, “Say, oooh. . . .” Missandei looked at Khal then said, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. She must have been so young.” She looked horrified at bringing up what was clearly still a difficult subject. Brienne gave her a reassuring look.

“Yes. She was.”

“I’m sorry,” she told Tywin.

“Thank you,” he replied.

Jaime seemed to recover faster from the moment. He was smooth in turning the conversation towards the safer topic of music. Khal’s eyes lit up and was soon in a deep conversation with him, making Missandei roll her eyes in amusement. Tywin, where Jaime must have learned the skill, asked her and Brienne about their exams. But Missandei would rather have Tywin talk about the rigor of running his empire. It was clear it pleased him to find out that she was well-versed in the language of business and stocks. Missandei then confessed she was first an economics major in college before shifting to music.

During a break from their performance, Jaqen joined them. He called a waiter over so they could order drinks. Jaime and Brienne stuck to club soda while everyone else ordered the harder stuff. As the intermission came to an end, Jaqen began to egg Brienne to join him onstage.

“What? No way!” She exclaimed, flushing and shaking her head vehemently.

“Brienne, everyone here in this table has heard you play and you’re fucking great—uh, excuse me, sir,” Jaqen told Tywin. “Sorry. My mom’s been washing my mouth with soap for years and it’s not working at all. Come on, Brienne. Don’t be greedy.”

“I’m not being greedy!”

Tywin suddenly spoke up, “I don’t believe I’ve heard you play, Brienne.”

 _“What?”_ Missandei screeched. She turned accusing eyes at Brienne. “I don’t believe you! Your father-in-law has never heard you?”

Jaqen grabbed Brienne by the arm, grinning. “Alright. Now there’s a reason for you to not play.”

“Jaime—” Brienne looked at him. “Do something.”

He smile was positively angelic. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I sure will, sweetheart. Jaqen, put her on the stage.”

“With pleasure,” Jaqen said, pulling her up.

“Traitor!” Brienne growled as everyone laughed. Her eyes were murderous as she stomped after Jaqen. Unbelievable.

“Hey, Alayaya,” Jaqen greeted the singer. “This is the friend I’ve been telling you about.”

Alayaya beamed at Brienne and held out her slim arms. “Ah, you’re Brienne? My, you are terrifically tall, aren’t you? Come here. Don’t be shy, hon. Give me a hug.”

Brienne awkwardly hugged her back, blushing heavily. “Hi. I’m sorry for this loser dragging me here. You have a great voice, by the way.”

“You’re sweet to say so, darling. Thank you. Now Jaqen tells me you are one hell of a cellist?”

Brienne cringed and glared at Jaqen. “He exaggerates.”

“He told me you’re shy. The good ones often are. So.” Alayaya swept a slim, graceful arm toward the band. “After you.”

Brienne gulped. “You can’t be serious?”

“Of course I am, darling!”Alayaya drawled. “Now, aren’t you with that delicious blond god?”

“My husband,” Brienne mumbled, a fresh wave of blush starting on her cheek. “Jaime.”

“Don’t you want to play for Jaime?”

Gods, this woman was a smooth operator. Brienne turned back shyly to the audience and saw Jaime right away. He waved at her and blew her a kiss. Jaqen grinned and pretended to catch it. Jaime gave him the finger, making Khal and Missandei laugh. Tywin shook his head at his son.

“Alright,” Brienne agreed, biting her lip. “Thank you, Alayaya.”

“That’s my girl! Alright. So, you just follow my lead and play however you like.”

“What?”

“Yeah. If you’re as good as Jaqen says you are, you can surely catch up with everyone. Now go park your little tush by that cello. Go on, darling. Go on.”

Alayaya took the microphone and greeted the crowd again. To Brienne’s mortification, she was introduced to the crowd, accompanied literally by a spotlight. The loudest cheers came from their table, and she was pretty sure she heard Jaime shout, “That’s my wife!” It drew a shy, happy smile from her and she firmed her hold on the bow.

Brienne knew next to nothing about jazz but Alayaya, who would give her encouraging smiles in the beginning of the number, made it easier for her to learn how to follow and play. And it really was play. It was like a discipline sort of surrender, getting lost to the beat and crescendo of the music. Classically trained her whole life, she was surprised that she took on to playing jazz easily, laughing as she stroked the strings to coax notes that ranged from sweet to sharp. Her eyes veered to the crowd and there was Jaime, smiling and looking proud. It was just to encouragement she needed to do more.

When she finished, she leaped off the stage. She barely heard the applause that Alayaya cajoled the crowd into giving her. She walked past the tables and acknowledged with an absent nod praises thrown at her. Her eyes were dancing and her grin was wide and gleeful. She scanned the crowd, looking for only one person.

Jaime was on his feet when she reached the table. Still high from her performance, she was bold in throwing her arms around him, and even more when her mouth slanted over his. She cupped his face in her warm hands, moaning as he pressed her tightly against his chest. They kissed for a wonderful eternity. When it ended, the noise and activity of the club came whooshing back. She gazed into beautiful emerald eyes, feeling for the first time that at last, she belonged.

“You were magnificent,” Jaime said, still holding her. Pride warmed his gaze.

She pinked and dropped her eyes to her shoes.

“You belong on the stage, Brienne.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m with you.” She touched his cheek, her heart beginning to race. Jaime gave her a strange look. He could feel it beating against his chest too.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She said truthfully. Her heart was racing faster by the minute but they felt like airy flutters in her chest. She listened to what it told her and spoke the words. “Nothing at all. I just love you, Jaime. That’s all.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a YAY? Not because this chapter is good (I hope it is) but because there's finally an update?
> 
> I keep yakking about real life taking over but that's the honest truth. There's still a lot of juggling going on. But I do hope that after this, the updates will be sooner. Believe me, I know the hell of a long wait. VERY WELL.
> 
> Thank you for still reading this. Your comments and kudos, should they come, are very much appreciated and sources of encouragement. If angst is not your thing. . .err. . .this isn't the last of it. I think we just wrapped up Phase One. 
> 
> Angst is a cranky, unpredictable animal!


	5. Lions of the Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne spend the holidays in Casterly Rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After ten years, an update!
> 
> Angst is HARD. Still, I try. Part of the reason why this update took so long is it's hard for me to write it. Unfinished fics make me uneasy but in order to to do the update, I had to write a few stuff that were the exact opposite of angst. So, here it is. A chapter that hopefully is worth the wait for anyone still interested reading this.
> 
> Just a caution. There are events and depictions here that might be uncomfortable for some. The tags should alert you to the nature of the series, as well as this note. The idea behind this is Jaime and Brienne have reached another relationship level and the result is all these feelings (for Brienne anyway) being exposed and the couple feeling raw. I won't say more because I don't want to spoil it. 
> 
> It was something I was uncertain about posting and SeleneU has been very helpful in giving me advice. So. . .here it is.

All the kissing and twirling around the loft trying to get to the stairs, the bed, was hell on Brienne’s balance but Jaime’s arms and kisses kept her upright and moving towards their goal. Along the way, she lost her sweater, he got rid of his, their shoes rained on the floor. They nearly tripped on her skirt.

They flopped down on the bed, their bodies bouncing and knocking Jaime off her momentarily. Brienne lay on her back, blinking and trying to make sense of what was happening when he was back on top of her, his tongue in her mouth and his erection against her thigh.

She felt drunk and exhilarated, floating yet grounded. As she grabbed his face, at his hair, he pushed her t-shirt up her throat. The buttons of his shirt dragged across her tits, dug in her chest. Their tongues thrust desperately towards each other. She heard the sharp, ripping sound of fabric, and another, followed by the sensation of warm mist settling over her bared thighs, her cunt.

Jaime suddenly pushed himself up. She froze at the heat of his stare, the expression on his face that seemed furious. “Say it,” he gritted out. “Again. Tell me again.”

Confused, she panted, “What?”

“Tell me you love me.” He looked pained then he was swooping back down for a kiss. A clash of tongue before he sucked hers. Her nails carved crescents on his arms before he grunted, _“Please.”_

“I—” she managed to gasp during a too-brief reprieve from their kiss. It was almost violent how she ripped her mouth away from him, her grip on his hair fierce and causing him to draw a sharp breath. As he ran his teeth down the tensed line of her neck, sucked on her collarbone, she cradled him between her legs. Her cunt swelled at the press of his cock. “ _I love you, Jaime.”_

It was almost a relief to say the words, a most satisfying exhale after holding her breath for so long. The fullness in her heart didn’t abate. It was also pain. But it was pain that she welcomed. “I love you,” she whispered again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as his lips wrapped around her nipple. He drew on the tip harshly, pulling it away from the mound. She whimpered, her head turning swiftly from side to side.

“Again.” He begged, suddenly lifting a little away from her. He couldn’t move much due to her embrace. She thought he sounded close to tears.

“I love you.”

She heard the soft rasp of a zipper lowered, the rustle of lace on linen as he pushed aside the scraps of her panties. Then he was inside her, hard and warm. He felt like something that had always been a part of her, always _in_ her.  She froze, eyes widening with shock. They had always been rough. But rough came after much initial gentleness.

Jaime didn’t ram into her, not immediately. Instead he just stayed inside her. He cupped her face and kissed her sweetly. She clung to him and he groaned. He thrust deeper in her. “Wench. Sweetheart. _Brienne_.”

“I love you so much.” She couldn’t stop saying the words. He never had to ask her. She would give, no questions asked. For Jaime it would always be like that. “So, so much.”

“Brienne.” There was so much need in his voice. It sounded like heartbreak.

No. She wouldn’t allow this. She grabbed him by the face and forced him to look in her eyes.

“Jaime, I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Then she read the recognition in them. And the need. Her husband. The strongest person she knew. Stubborn, willful, impulsive. The knight who slew fire-breathing dragons. Her light. She tightened her legs around him and they cried out.

They fucked with her holding tightly to his face, their eyes boring so deeply into each other as if to see what made them, discover their first origins. He held one of her legs over his shoulder, the depth and angle of his thrust drawing rough whimpers from her throat. Through the wild ride, Jaime would grunt, almost harshly, to hear those words again. “Tell me. Say it.” And they spilled from her lips, sometimes like rivulets, sometimes a wave upon a wave.

Jaime was relentless. He asked her to repeat those words through the night, fucking her, kissing her. She wanted to be with him in every way possible, wanted him to know she was his, really his. Her face was red down to her neck when she suddenly reached in his nightstand and pulled out a familiar white tube. She stared at it, feeling her heart leap in her throat before meeting his eyes. Then she handed it to him and turned on her hands and knees.

She panted and gasped, fighting through the white and silver sparks filling her gaze as he fucked her, thrusting past her stubborn resistance, raining implorations for her to ease as well as how he wanted her, wanted her above everything, in her ear, on her shoulder. Tears fell from her eyes, not from pain but from the intensity of their joining. She should no longer be overwhelmed. She had felt him like this inside her before. This was Jaime. She knew him. But something was different. Not just with tonight’s repertoire, that now came with her declaration and him grunting and gasping behind her, his hard body pressing her down on the mattress. Something had shifted. It felt like the night they first fucked, and the day when she began to trust him in bed by letting him get on top of her.

She was a limp mass on the bed afterwards. She was briefly roused with the gentle caress of a towel as he cleaned her up. Then she felt herself being turned on her back. He lay down beside her, his breath rasping her ear. But his fingers sliding down to her cunt, brushing the curls back before one entered her in one thrust had her moaning against his lips.

This night was far from over.

“I don’t want to sleep,” he told her, struggling with the words. He looked in her eyes, his finger fucking her cunt with increasingly rough strokes. “I don’t know if I dreamed you told me you loved me.”

He kissed her and she whimpered against his lips. A second finger joined the other thrusting in her cunt. She raised her hips, awkwardly matching the pace of his fucking.

“I really love you,” she gasped.

“Say it again,” he begged before taking a nipple in his mouth. His fingers went in and out.

She spread her legs wide. “I love you, Jaime.”

“Again. _Again_.”

“I love you.” She moaned. “I love you.”

 

******

The somber notes from the cello were not exactly lively morning music, but Jaime liked the melody. As he made freshly-squeezed orange juice, his ears tried to identify the composition.

“What’s that?” he asked, bringing the pitcher to the table.

Brienne looked up, keeping her bow poised over the instrument. Her cheeks turned a darling shade of pink.

“Um, it’s. . .it’s an original composition,” she replied, the lovely pink shade now covering her neck. “I’ve been playing around. . .more like tinkering, really.”

Jaime smiled. “No kidding?”

She shrugged.

Brienne just standing in the same room as she was enough to fuck with his brain. Brienne with her cello, with her pale hair a halo around her head, her blotchy skin hugged by the sunlight streaming from the skylight, and her body covered only in a t-shirt and boxers, just about killed him. She looked sweet and innocent. Not so innocent, Jaime reminded himself, for once just content feeling his cock stir. Her cunt was still wet from their fucking, the insides of her freckled thighs pink from his beard. His eyes warmed as they gazed at her extra-puffy mouth.

“Is that the only one you’ve done? I like it,” he said. And he did. If she could be captured in a melody, she was smooth, somber notes, gentle rhythm.

She froze. “R-Really?”

“A bit. . .quiet for the morning, after the night we had,” he told her. _You love me. I refused to let you stop saying it. Don’t stop saying it._

She blushed and bit her lip.

“I hope for more nights like it,” he added huskily, gazing pointedly at her nipples through the t-shirt and the sweet peek of her inner thigh behind the cello. “Days too.”

The best thing in life was not fucking a woman who wanted to be fucked by you. It was fucking a woman who loved you. _No, not just a woman_ , he amended. _Brienne_. Fucking Brienne who loved him was the supreme gift. Last night, he felt alive for probably the first time in his life.

“Me too.” She mumbled.

He longed to kiss her. Suck her tongue, bury himself deep in her cunt still soaked with semen. But he remained by the table, too in awe of her in the light and her talent with the cello. Somehow, controlling himself fueled his desire.

“It’s really good, Brienne. I hope you do more.”

“Th-thank you,” she mumbled. She glanced at him and resumed playing.

He smiled at her, for once just content to look at the gentle line of her neck now bent as she watched the bow caress the strings. No subject had intrigued him as much as Brienne had. It wasn’t that he couldn’t capture the real her on canvas. He had. But every finished sketch was another revelation of his wife. It was like looking at a diamond and discovering its many facets.

_His wife._

He finished preparing their meal, finding comfort in their role switch. He did like having Brienne prepare their breakfast and how she had taken over running their household. She took on the responsibility without question, but he didn’t want to take advantage.

“We should start packing today so we can leave for your dad’s first thing tomorrow morning,” she murmured between sips of orange juice a while later.

Jaime grimaced inwardly. Before parting ways from Tywin, the old man had extracted a promise from Brienne that they spend the holidays with him. He had to hand it to his father. Tywin knew he would say no, so he had asked Brienne, who was still pretty much clueless about the depth and hidden complications of the Lannister family dynamics. He didn’t like it one bit how Tywin took advantage of his wife’s good heart.

“What choice do we have,” he couldn’t help but say gloomily.

She nudged him under the table with her foot. “But Marge and Tyrion will be there. I haven’t seen them in a while.”

The only reasons for going to Casterly Rock. Them and his nephews.

Noticing he didn’t look too enthusiastic, she squirmed in her seat. “Jaime, if it’s too difficult for you it’s okay. We don’t have to go.”

He saw her hesitate before timidly reaching across the table for his hand. She looked at their joined hands, her pale, rough hair falling over her eyes. Brienne was most confident with a cello and was a sensual force unleashed in their bed. But outside of it, she still took great care with showing her feelings. It hurt him a little, but she said she loved him. Knowing that would always make everything alright.

“No.” He kissed her hand quickly, tasting the crumbs of toast and blueberry preserve there. “We should go. Father would love to see you. And Marge has been asking about you.”

Margaery seemed to have taken Brienne under her wing. Before Brienne returned to school, the two women would talk in the kitchen, Margaery beaming in appreciation as Brienne fumbled at offering to take over some of her duties so she could concentrate on her bigger responsibilities.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He smiled at her and kissed each of her fingers. “Casterly Rock is beautiful at this time of the year. As messed up as Tywin is, he knows how to go all out on the decorations.”

He would go only for his wife. _The things I do for love_ , he thought, stilling for a moment before Brienne pulled her hand back and resumed eating. He was a fucking sap or a desperate, fucking sap.

Then her sapphire eyes met his, and he thought only a fool would say no.

A cellphone began to ring. His. Jaime hunted for his phone under the pillows, where it had slipped last night during their early tussle. “Bronn,” he said, nodding at Brienne. “What’s—”

“Hey, fucker.” Bronn said quietly.

“What’s going on?”

“Hospital. Lollys. Lollys.” Jaime heard him sigh long and loudly before cursing. “Baby. I mean. It’s coming. Seven hells!”

 

*****

Adabelle was born at five twenty-five in the afternoon, weighing six pounds and nine ounces. She was completely bald except for faint feathers of pale hair at the lower back of her head. She had big, dark gray eyes. Brienne took photos of Bronn, still wearing his surgical greens, cradling his daughter in his arms. He made silly faces through his tears. Jaime simply watched the baby squirm and yawn.

Bronn then offered the baby to Brienne. She flushed, and gave Jaime a worried look before positioning her arms to take her. Bronn transferred his daughter, making cooing sounds as he did. Jaime, now holding the camera, peered through the lens.

The baby felt like a soft sack of meat and the most fragile of bones. She was _soft._  Softer than anything Brienne had held. Pretty gray eyes stared back up at her before closing as a tiny pink mouth opened. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” she muttered, looking up at Bronn and Jaime. Her big eyes betrayed her panic.

“Come on, you’re doing it right. You’re a fucking natural,” Bronn assured her, rubbing the top of his big nose on his daughter’s forehead. “I think she likes you.”

“She’s so small and just. . .fragile,” she whispered, cradling her closer to her chest and turning to Jaime, who was aiming the camera phone at them. “Hurry with the picture.”

“Why are we whispering?” Jaime asked in a loud whisper.

“I don’t want to wake her,” Brienne answered. Adabelle suddenly whimpered and she froze. “What the fuck did I do? Fuck. I said ‘fuck!’”

“You’re funny,” Bronn said, rolling his eyes at her then Jaime. “It’s a baby, not a nuclear bomb.”

“What if her first word is fuck?” Brienne whispered. “Shit, I said it again. Oh. . .drat.”

Bronn finally took mercy on her and took his daughter back. He offered the baby to Jaime next. He hesitated, and Brienne took the phone from him.

Unlike her, Jaime’s hold on Adabelle was sure and he smiled for the camera. Brienne thought she could be his baby. A strange, heavy ache settled on her breasts. Confused, she hurried through the photos. Jaime looked more relieved than he should be as he returned the baby to Bronn. Brienne took another photo.

“What happened to you?” Jaime asked her while driving. They were going to Bronn and Lollys’ place to feed Honey. The couple would be returning by tomorrow. afternoon. Before Jaime and Brienne drove to Casterly Rock, they would be feeding Honey again.

“What are you talking about?”

“When I was holding the baby. You looked. . .I don’t know. I can’t describe it.”

She blushed and fiddled with the seatbelt across her chest. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess. . .I guess I was reminded of the pregnancy scare. I’m. . .I don’t think that can be us.”

“Oh. Well, it’s too soon.” Jaime said, signaling as he switched to a faster lane on the road. “You also just got back to school.”

She nodded absently but not exactly in agreement.

She was terrified of being pregnant because she didn’t want Jaime to think she had deliberately trapped him in a relationship that was only going to be temporary. She did love him. Without question. But much of Jaime and their significance to each other was still very much in the dark.

_I love him and now he knows._

She looked at him as he drove, wondering how much braver she would have to be when her heart was on the table. What of his heart? Because she felt he loved her too. The way he looked at her, how he protected her. The way he turned to her as he confessed about Cersei. He had to love her to trust her as he had. _When he fucks me._ She knew how it felt to be used. It was never like that with Jaime.

Had she been pregnant, under different circumstances, she would welcome it. She would be scared, she would be worried and yes, her dream would be derailed again but what were beautiful symphonies and public adoration to life? A life she created with Jaime with all her heart?

“Maybe we should take Honey for a walk too,” Jaime said as he made a turn.

“Yes. She’ll like that.”

 

******

_Innocence._

The ground covered in dried leaves the color of vivid reds and golds, the sun high in the sky and the sky clear but also crammed with fluffy white clouds called for a brush and canvas. But the sight that held Jaime spellbound was Brienne tearing across the red-gold field on her endless legs, red-faced and shrieking as she and Honey ran back and forth.

She looked so carefree and joyous, and amidst the rich colors of the fall, almost beautiful. He watched her pick up a stick from the ground and toss it to the other end of the field, which Honey chased. Brienne threw back her head and laughed before going after the dog.

In their bed she was all woman, his wife. Sensual. Wet. Sweet gasps. Tight cunt. Hungry, unschooled kisses. _I love you, Jaime. I love you. I love you._ But she was so very young, just at the cusp of her life that promised numerous paths and turns, rather than dreaded forks or worse, a single way. She was no longer the angry, defensive woman who taunted him into trying to shame her for her lack of womanly curves. She was no longer close to being destroyed, as Roose Bolton had intended. Somehow, she had been brought back to life and she was fighting for one more day in the sun with verve and exuberance. Fighting and still living. 

Honey now held the stick between her jaws and Brienne was chasing after her. She must have slipped, or tripped, because she was suddenly flying across the ground. Jaime shot to his feet as she landed. The world fell silent. Honey, realizing no one was chasing her, turned and dropped the stick as she barked. She ran back to Brienne, who was suddenly laughing. Jaime would have gone to her if not for her arm rising in the air, her thumb thrust high. Honey reached her and licked her face. Jaime thought Brienne’s giggles sounded that of a little girl’s. She turned on her side as the dog flopped down beside her. She hugged the animal, holding it with more confidence than the baby.

Adabelle looked more fragile in Brienne’s thick arms yet also more secure. She had held the baby awkwardly but close to her chest, the worry in her face clear. Jaime was amazed that something so small was alive and looked to be a fighter. Perhaps if not for recent events, he could bask in the sight of Brienne with the child. His stomach fluttered imagining her full and ripe with _his_ child, her arms cradling her round stomach rather than the cello.

No, he couldn’t do that to her. _She loved him._ She trusted him. He was not going to violate that trust by knocking her up for real. She was never going to forgive him. And should they have a child? He was still testing the waters with Brienne, wondering about the depth of her feelings despite her heated declarations last night. What would his child think of him for being a coward that turned to the bottle? That he had seen his sister get raped by her husband and did nothing? That he had fucked his sister?

The child will hate him too for bringing him into the world when he shouldn’t be. Or her.

He would hate himself too. He had promised to take care and protect Brienne. He couldn’t get her pregnant now, no. What he needed to do was make her dream happen. She belonged on the stage and deserved nothing less than roses thrown at her feet after every performance. _She loved him. She trusted him._ He could live with Brienne’s hate but who’s to say she would live with him? That was going to be a cruel world, a world without Brienne at his side.

He went to the lovebirds still cuddling on the ground. The sun was beginning to set and the air was crisper and cooler. Honey looked up at him while Brienne smiled. “Hi.”

“Hey. It’s getting dark, kids.” He said, holding out his hand to her.

Honey whined, as if understanding him. Brienne laughed and took his hand. He grunted as he pulled her up. Seeing she was covered in leaves and bits of grass, he laughed. She blushed and they dusted her off.

“I have something to ask of you,” she told him as he patted her butt free of the clinging leaves. He couldn’t stop himself from sneaking in a caress, wishing he was touching naked, pale flesh.

“What is it?” He asked, straightening up to pull the leaves from her hair. “Fuck, Brienne. It’s like you’ve got an entire forest on you.”

“Can Honey stay the night?” She asked, plucking a clinging twig from her sleeve. “She’s been alone all day and Bronn’s place is on the way. We can drop her off when we leave tomorrow morning?” Because he didn’t answer right away, she added, “She won’t mess up the loft, Jaime. I promise. And she’s obedient.”

He affected a long sigh. “I do have one concern.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to fuck you through the night and I expect you to be your usual. . .expressive self, wench. Think Honey can handle that?”  

She blushed violently and looked around them. “Jaime, people might hear!”

“What’s wrong about telling my wife I want to fuck her, and I like it when she’s loud?” Hells, but it was fun teasing her like this.

“I’m not loud!” She hissed.

“Not when it’s my tongue in your cunt, wench. But when it’s my cock? You can bring the house down.”

She glared at him. “You’re teasing me.”

He laughed. “Yes. But surely you know how. . .enthusiastic you get when I’m fucking you?”

She shook her head and muttered something under her breath. He grabbed her and urged her to look at him. She was annoyed, but there was a softness in her eyes too. He took her by the chin and devoured her mouth.  


*****

Casterly Rock was a condemned place as far as Jaime was concerned. It brought back too many painful memories he would rather forget. He never wanted Brienne to stay there longer than she should. The occasional dinner was barely tolerable. A weekend was something else.

He was also greedy about his wife. She loved him. Had told him at last she loved him. He couldn’t get enough hearing the words from her, begging her to tell him over and over last night. He had been relentless, wanting the words panted in his ear as his cock pumped inside her. He had refused to turn off the lights, wanting to look in her eyes and see all of her as she bared her heart once again. His only regret was exhausting her, to the point that she was snoring softly as he spilled in her cunt. Jaime slept with her caged in his arms, his hold possessive, intent on keeping her safe.

She looked very pale the next morning, flushed and her beautiful eyes heavily-lidded from the lack of sleep. It did not stop Jaime from nudging her back into bed and spreading her legs. The dried stains of their fucking and his semen were all over her thighs. He wished for paper and paint but hunger for her taste, their taste, won. Her cunt was still swollen, and plump under his hungry kisses but she moaned and sighed his name. He licked the softer inside of her cunt, tasting himself, her. He suckled on her clit without mercy, not even when she squirmed and gasped it was too much. He licked her clean for she was his goddess and he was nothing but a servant who would spend his days worshipping at this altar of her.

They dropped off Honey back in her house, keeping her happy with a full bowl of food and another of fresh water. Half her face was deep in the bowl before Brienne could kiss her goodbye. Released from this duty, she slumped back in the passenger seat and fell asleep. She only woke up once, when Jaime put a paper cup of warm coffee under her nose then offered her a sandwich. She took a sip, a small bite of the food then fell back asleep.

She woke up when they were half a mile from Casterly Rock. She squinted at the sun and winced. “Morning, sleepyhead,” Jaime told her cheerfully.

“Good morning,” she murmured, stretching as much as she could in the limited space. She was all rumpled and adorable.

“Hungry?” Jaime asked.

“No. I just want to sleep.”

“Sorry about that.”

He glanced at her and saw her blush heavily.

“You never have to be sorry about that,” she said to her lap. “I’m not. I—I like it. It’s. . .it’s really nice with you.”

Seven hells, she shouldn’t really be saying those things when he was driving and they were approaching what was the closest to literal hell on his earth. Had she been wearing a skirt, he would pull over and sink in the heaven of her sweet cunt and drown in the sapphire oceans of her eyes. But she was in jeans and she still looked sleepy and a little cross.

Brienne had only been to Casterly Rock once. If Jaime had his way, she would never set foot here again. She was goodness personified and Casterly Rock was a cesspool beneath its grandeur. The tall, iron gates parting open to let them through reminded Jaime of sharp spikes. The tree-lined, curving driveway was not the artful display of professional gardening but artifice meant to lure and trap.

Then there was his father standing at the end of the drive, the fountain of a carved lion behind him, seemingly benevolent in his three-piece suit and placid expression but the lord of darkness.

And behind him and that atrocious fountain, the mansion. Two wings. Each room a showcase of the rarest and finest art and unmatched Lannister wealth. The very places where he and Cersei had shared one forbidden kiss after the next to forget the loss of their mother. Then Cersei’s room where he fucked her the entire summer, believing that the absence of pain as his cock sank repeatedly in her cunt meant heaven.

Jaime started to slow down, his expression grave. Brienne must have been looking at him because as soon as he braked the car, her hand closed around him. She looked worried.

“I’m here, Jaime. I love you.”

She really was sweet, believing that those three words were the magic that would undo hell.

It was Tywin who opened her door. “Brienne, you’re finally here. Jaime.” When speaking to him, his father’s voice was clipped.

Tywin took Brienne’s hand and helped her from the SUV. As his father welcomed her warmly with a hug, Jaime let himself out of the car. He reached them just as Brienne was moving away from Tywin’s arms.  Noticing how she was moving gingerly, Tywin remarked, “You should have stopped for a few minutes, so your wife could stretch her legs, Jaime.”

Jaime snorted under his breath. If not for Brienne turning a deep, vivid red in seconds, he would have told his father that he had stretched his wife’s legs plenty last night, and her cunt too. But no. He wouldn’t embarrass Brienne like that.

“It’s alright, Tywin. It’s not Jaime’s fault,” she said quickly. “Err. . .we didn’t get much sleep because Bronn’s wife gave birth and we stayed at the hospital with them.”

“Oh.” Tywin looked confused for a moment and Jaime sighed. Of course he wouldn’t know his son’s friends. “Right. Well. Congratulations to them. What did they have?”

“A girl. Teeny and beautiful.”

Servants appeared out of nowhere to get their bags from the car. Jaime put his arm around Brienne’s waist. Tywin stared at them and then offered Jaime his hand.

Brienne’s confusion at their handshake meant there would be questions later.

“All it took was a wife for you to return home, Jaime.” Tywin said as Jaime put his arm back around Brienne’s waist.

“We’ll see about that. Where’s Tyrion?”

“They won’t be arriving until tonight. Your old room is ready. We still have a few hours before lunch so you can rest, if you like.” Tywin replied. “I hope you don’t mind that I make myself scarce for a while longer, Brienne,” he told her. “It may be the holidays already but there’s still work to be done. I’ll see you later”

“Don’t mind us,” Jaime told him. He didn’t look forward to spending time in his old room. He and Cersei never fucked there but hers was right across from his. With dread, he stared at the heavy, red-brown doors with the lion’s head knocker. For Brienne’s sake he was determined to keep it together. His wife seemed to be under the illusion that the holidays would mean burning bridges between father and son. _She’ll have to find out for herself it’s a futile, miserable effort._

Tywin excused himself, leaving them there at the front steps. Jaime couldn’t resist sneaking a hand under Brienne’s sweater to touch her warm stomach. He grinned at the wild blush that quickly spread across her face, her blue eyes widening as they darted side to side to the servants bustling about. He leaned in close. “Do you want to rest up or go for a walk?”

“Well. . .I’d really like to sleep some more,” she admitted shakily as his thumb skated across her belly button.”

“I was thinking the exact same thing,” he told her, kissing the tip of her nose and pulling her by the hand.

More servants greeted them inside the house. Jaime was sincerely proud as he introduced Brienne around. _His wife_. His wife who loved him. He had to stop himself from laughing as Brienne shook hands with each of them, because she didn’t have to. When he finally managed to steer her towards the stairs, she whispered, “Their uniforms are fancier than my clothes!”

“You never need clothes, wench.” He teased her.

She shook her head and took his hand. “Take me to your room, Jaime.”

Well. That was one invitation he will never say no to. “Our room,” he corrected.

“How many rooms do you have here?” She asked as they climbed up the grand, sweeping staircase. The carpeted steps muffled their heavy treads.

“The truth? I have no idea. Casterly Rock is, I don’t know, twenty hectares, more or less? I’ll take you to the beach later.”

“Oh, we’ll go for a drive?”

“No, wench.” He kissed her on the cheek and beamed. “We have our own beach.”

Her mouth dropping open was enough enticement to surprise her again soon. He pulled her to the top of the stairs and toward the hallway.

“Wow, you have designs on the ceilings too,” she marveled, looking up. It was painted with red and gold roses and small, gold lions. The hallway was lined with sculptures, carved, antique tables and other knick-knacks that belonged to a museum. She remarked about never seeing so many lion figurines before.

“Too many lions everywhere in this pagoda,” he said with a shrug. “No getting away from them.”

Their banter came to a halt when they reached his room. Jaime refused to look but Brienne glanced at him then the door to Cersei’s room.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

He nodded.

She kissed him on the lips and he hauled her close to his chest. He could do this as long as she kissed him. He could do everything.

Their suitcases were nowhere in sight. Brienne was curious about that so Jaime pointed at the walk-in closet. She went there, aahing audibly. “This is bigger than our place!”

He laughed and put his arms around her waist. He kissed her warm neck. “Everything in Casterly Rock is bigger than anything else.”

“Jaime?”

“Hmm?”

“I—I know it’s difficult for you to be here, but I’m glad you did it anyway.”

He hugged her tightly. _I’m here because of you._

Instead, he said, “Let’s get you out of those clothes and into bed.”

“Um, but my clothes are clean.”

“Yes. We’re not going to fuck, sweetheart. I’m a little tired myself. But I miss your freckles already. Won’t you let me see them?”

So, they removed their clothes, Brienne folding hers neatly and putting them on the chair, Jaime leaving his on the floor. His cock was erect and pointing straight at his stomach. She turned pink upon seeing that but he meant what he said. He simply couldn’t control his cock’s response when her tits and cunt were out for him to see and be tempted. But his eyes betrayed his longing as they gazed at her long legs.

“Come here.” With a boldness so uncharacteristic of her, Brienne led him to the bed. She put her hands on his shoulders and urged him to sit down. Realizing what she was going to do, he caught her around the waist. He pressed little kisses on her tits, caught a fat, swollen nipple in his mouth but just to taste her.

“Wench, you don’t have to do this.”

“But I want to.”

She took a pillow from the bed and dropped it at their feet. She knelt, her movements oddly graceful With her pale skin limned in sunlight and her sapphire eyes soft and a little dazed from lack of sleep, there was something unearthly and beautifully alien about her. His breath caught in his throat as she turned the full, beautiful force of her eyes on him before beginning to rub his cock in her calloused hand. He groaned and sighed.

“I like it when you play me, Brienne.”

Her breath stirred the golden curls between his thighs before she pressed a shy but deep kiss on his head. He could melt.

“I don’t play you, Jaime,” she whispered between feathery kisses up and down his cock. “I love you.”

He shook from her words. Spoken so easily. As if they have always been true.

His eyes burned as her tongue circled his cockhead before dragging the wet bead hanging from it with a slow lick. Her lips closed around it then, her cheeks gently hollowing from the careful kiss that he knew would build it up to something more. Wet, plopping sounds from her mouth around his cock reminded him of her fingers gently plucking at the cello. But the sounds of her kisses were softer, more intimate. Her head and shoulders bobbed up and down as she got into the rhythm, reminding him once again of her entire body surrendering to the power of a composition.

As her mouth worshiped his cock and her hands rubbed and fondled, squeezed, his groans got rougher, louder, the sensual accompaniment to the melody they were composing. His fingers passed through her hair before burrowing more firmly, angling her head so her eyes were bared, and he could see her red mouth parting to take him in. He chanted her name breathlessly, cried it out when she gave his balls a brief tug. Just as he liked it. Then her hands were back, her strokes beautifully gentle despite the rough, ridged texture of her palms and fingers. One hand settled on his thigh and he took it to kiss her hand passionately.

Her cheeks got more hollowed as the pressure of her sucking increased, drawing his cock halfway into her mouth. He shuddered at the smooth, wet feel of her tongue, at the textured surface of her palate teasing the head. His legs widened as he pressed her head closer. She moaned, opening her mouth some more.

_There._

He took her head in both hands, angling it so he could thrust over and over in her throat. She whimpered, tried to gasp as he popped past the back of her mouth. First, he fucked her throat in earnest but a glimpse of her eyes and all civility was lost. He groaned and pounded into her mouth, fearing he would snap her jaw, but too greedy for his own pleasure to care and he hated himself at that point, for taking everything from Brienne and more when she had given without question.

She didn’t fight him off. She didn’t stop him in any way. Rather, she touched him, opening her mouth wider and wider. She was rubbing herself against the pillow too.

“I’m close,” he grunted, pulling back. Only his cockhead remained in her mouth when she shook her head and moved. He gasped as she swallowed the entire length of him, her nose pressed right at the base of his cock. _“Damn.”_

He poured in her mouth, her throat. She gagged, drawing back but suddenly seized his cock. Her mouth tightened around him and she sucked with a fury that flung him to galaxies beyond this one. He grunted and jerked against her as the last of him spilled.

He howled before collapsing on the bed. He was panting and his chest was coated in sweat. He heard rather than saw Brienne shuffle back to her feet. Wearily, he sat up and saw something he never expected to see.

Brienne’s kisses were awkward but she gave oral with the smoothness of a courtesan. Except this time. He stared in disbelief at his semen dripping down her chin, her neck, on her tits. On her pink skin and freckles, the drippings of his semen looked like silver.

“Um, I’ll just clean up.”

Her creamy skin was the canvas for her pink freckles and the gleaming tracks of his semen streaming from her chin to the rest of her. _This is us_ , he thought.

“No.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

She looked unsure but went to him anyway.

Jaime grabbed her by the hand until she fell beside him. She turned away. “Jaime, please. This isn’t---I don’t know how I feel about looking like this.”

He took her chin and turned her to face him. A slim thread of his semen continued to move down her body until it settled in her belly button. _“You look like mine.”_

Then he was kissing her, sinking his tongue in her mouth to dip in the little pool of semen there. She moaned and wrapped her arms around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and appreciation to SeleneU for the beta! You rock!


	6. Kiss You A Lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> If this is your first time to read Blue Awakening (Yay! Thank you!), this is actually Part 4.
> 
> Parts 1 to 3 are set to private. At the moment, Part 4 (Part 1 to those seeing this without logging in) is not restricted. This is because we might be adding something to it in later chapters and I'd hate what happened to me (which forced me to restrict access to my fics) to compromise someone else's talent. So, if and whenever it will be posted, Part 4 will remain public.

 

Chapter Six: Kiss You A Lot

Brienne slowly opened her eyes, looking right at Jaime’s sleeping face. Her breath softly ruffled the hair on top of his head, while his feathered her throat. They lay entangled around each other; one of her legs was trapped between his. How she felt all of him—his hair soft on her cheek, his skin warm against her, the bulge of his muscles settling on the firm planes and slight curves of her, his cock nestled between her thighs, firm even at rest, the curls covering his thighs all the way to his legs. Every breath from her brought her lips to his forehead. Her tongue flicked out to taste the faint salt of his dried sweat.

Jaime continued to sleep in her arms as her eyes drifted to the rest of her new surroundings. His loft was all soft creams and the palest brushes of gray. Drapes hung open all day because he liked lots of natural light. The first floor was uninterrupted space, with only one wall to the bathroom, the only demarcation from the rest of the area. The rest flowed into the next—the worn couch in front of the fireplace, and next to it a shelf of books, then his work area, with the easel stand, shelves for his painting supplies, a worktable. Up the stairs was their bedroom where the principle of flowing, uninterrupted space continued.

Their loft brimmed with life. She remembered that on the couch was a short, knitted blanket in white and aquamarine that found a home there almost as soon as she moved in—it was from Tarth. There were also photos from their wedding on the walls. Their bedroom was a mess, not because it was disorderly but bits and pieces of them were thrown together. It was a little embarrassing that it wasn’t too long ago when she was cleaning houses but it now took her days to tidy up. Under the bed was a collection of mismatched socks and their used underwear, kicked there during throes of passion. A pair or two of Jaime’s pants on the floor, hers folded neatly on a chair. Though their bed was always made, there was no getting rid of her favorite sleep shirt—a worn, faded green sweater of Jaime’s that had become hers. The sheet was a canvas of very telling stains. The bed smelled of sweat and fucking. Right next to it was her cello.

 His bedroom in Casterly Rock was the exact opposite.

First was the four-poster bed they were on. It was painted with a dark vanish that was almost black, and covered in dark burgundy sheets edged with bronze. She stared at the tightly-shut cabinet doors, wondering what boyhood mementoes were in there, if there were. She eyed the doorway leading to the walk-in closet and the other dark wooden door that was a replica of the one leading into the bedroom. There was nothing of the boy or even the younger man Jaime used to be, except maybe for two framed photographs on a desk. They were too far away to make out their faces. With servants cleaning daily, there was not a single speck of dust. Everything seemed glued or nailed in place, like in a magazine spread. Though the temperature in Casterly Rock was significantly warmer than in the city, the neatness chilled Brienne the first time she saw it. It was unreal. It didn’t belong to a real person because it was staged. Perfect.

She remembered her old bedroom back in Tarth. It was a quarter, maybe even less the size of his room but her identity was on every precious inch of the space. Her cello on its treasured spot beside her bed. Small jars on her nightstand, her desk, her dresser and her shelf that she had filled with smooth, white stones from the beach. Her teddy bear on the bed. Her small collection of cello music and other popular tunes of the day. A photograph with her parents, taken when she was a baby. Her room was so small it just about fit a queen-sized bed. She slept with her legs bent or sometimes with her feet sticking out from the edge. But her room with hits blue-and-white striped carpeting was her refuge and haven. She had not wanted to leave it, and felt herself die when she had to sell the house and everything else in it, donating the rest to charity. All the remained of her life in Tarth was in her studio apartment and now, in the loft she shared with Jaime.

“Sweetheart. I can hear you thinking,” he murmured against her neck, cuddling closer. She blushed and looked at him.

“I’m trying to find you here,” she admitted as he sighed kissed her. His leg climbed higher on her side.

“I’m not here,” he said, licking her, freckle by freckle it felt. “I’m in you. I’m on you.” He suckled her nipple hard to make a point and she felt a burn that swept through her like a tidal wave.

She had been shocked when Jaime kissed her in her condition earlier. She was not yet done swallowing him when he attacked her tongue, sucking his taste off her. His semen flowed between their lips. Though she was feverish with want for her husband, it took her a while to get into the rhythm of things. Never did she think he would lick and suck himself off her body, _from her mouth_ , as he had, proclaiming how good he tasted on her, them, together. As he kissed her now, she felt the familiar hardening of his cock between them. Her cunt was still sore from last night and from earlier but it was eager to spill in welcome. She could only mouth his name, her eyes closing in rapture as he nudged her outer labia apart, a firm finger sinking in the sodden depths of her cunt easily. He fucked her with languid, lazy strokes. Nevertheless, she fell apart at the third glide of his finger, her hips lurching sharply as she gasped. He watched her through half-closed eyes.

His finger was still inside her moments after her crash. She was grateful he couldn’t see how bright red her cheeks were at the secret pleasure. It was difficult to sleep and relax without his hand between her legs. Sometimes, in the night, she would wake up and feel his head between her thighs, his lips suckling her clit with mind-blowing savagery, or his tongue fucking her. Jaime confessed he did it because he would have dreams she wasn’t real at all. Smelling her, tasting her, calmed him down.

“Where are you?” She asked as he settled back in her arms and seemed to doze again. “Where’s your train set? Your paintings?”

“Not here,” he mumbled. “Trash.”

“Come on.”

“Purged, burned, gone, gone.” He was rambling, which meant he was half-asleep. “Nothing’s good about me here.” They tumbled out, the words nearly tripping all over themselves that she had to strain to hear and make sense of them.

“I don’t believe that.” She whispered, kissing him. Her arms tightened around him protectively.

He sighed and nuzzled against her tits. “Sweetheart.”

“Jaime?”

“Don’t let me go.”

“Of course not.”  She hugged him tight. “I love you.”

“Brienne.” She waited for him to say more but the soft snoring against her chest meant it would be long in coming—if he remembered what they just talked about.

With Jaime slumped and snoring in her arms, she wouldn’t dream of disturbing him just so she could join Tywin for lunch. The right thing to do was to wake him up but she did understand the upheaval it took him to return to Casterly Rock. He vowed never to bring her here again after telling Tywin of their engagement, calling it ‘poisonous.’ She still hoped that father and son would be able to fix what problems they had, if not during the holidays, then at least for them to be more involved in each other’s lives. She loved Jaime. Should they become a family someday, she wanted their child to know Tywin Lannister. Family will always be family, no matter what.

She joined Jaime in dreams soon after, floating in a dark world where ideas such as time did not exist. There was comfort in this unknown, where she was just drifting along a black sea, looking up at a black sky with no sliver of light. The water felt like a warm embrace. But she wanted light after some time. In this dark world, she felt as if she was waiting. Waiting to be reborn.

When she woke up, she was alone in bed. The drapes were drawn closed, allowing only a shaft of light into the room. Sleepily, she stretched her arms and legs until hearing that satisfactory pop of joints. She lay with arms and legs in an unintentional wanton spread that Jaime, emerging from the closet with clothes draped on his arms, welcomed with a smirk.

His eyes were green fire and she felt herself licked in one hot swoop. Instinct almost had her curling into her body in embarrassment. Down her throat, toward her breasts, her stomach, all the way to her legs were dry tracks of semen. It took all the courage she had to keep her arms and legs spread, to look at her husband as if this was no big deal at all to be caught nude and luxuriating as she was.

“You’re beautiful.”

She never expected that. Not for herself, never that word, in that tone.

“We missed lunch. But Tywin wants us to join him for tea.” He put the clothes on a chair then sat down by her feet. He pressed kisses up and down her legs. “We can make excuses, if you want.”

He came to rest his chin right on her cunt, a smile lighting up his face as she blushed and bit her lip.

“Say we don’t have to go down there and have stupid tea,” he urged her.

She shook her head and tenderly stroked his rumpled hair, his brow. “Come on, Jaime. You know we have to.”

He sighed loudly and started kissing her cunt. She blushed and giggled, trembling from the passion behind his little, fervent kisses. “It’s not right,” she managed to gasp. “He—he invited us.”

He groaned against her slickening mound and resumed kissing her. “I don’t want to be anywhere else but here. I only want to be inside you.”

“I—I can still feel you.” She admitted, turning deep red. Her cunt was sore in a way that felt right. She was getting slick from his kisses but she was still wet from when he had fucked her. There was a hollowness in her cunt that she had never felt until Jaime. She longed to be fucked, to spend her life with Jaime fucking her, his cock putting an end to that awful emptiness.

“Hmm. Do you?” He asked, moving up her body, covering her with more kisses. A sigh spilled from her lips as he drew on her nipple harshly. When he let go of the nub, it was red and gleaming with his saliva. He looked at her in the eye.

“You still taste like me.”

She gasped as he sniffed loudly from her neck. “You smell like you’ve spent the afternoon spreading your legs for a lion, sweetheart.”

“Oh, gods. Jaime, get off. You have to let me take a shower.” Panicking, she managed to push him off her and jump out of bed. She grabbed the blanket and threw it around her while Jaime lay back in bed, watching her in amusement.

“What’s so wrong if you smell like I’ve been fucking you? I _have_ been fucking you. Better for Tywin to know what he’s interrupting,” he drawled.

“Jaime, let’s not embarrass your father like that, please.”

She looked around wildly for the bathroom. Jaime whistled and pointed to another set of doors. Relieved, she dashed toward them.

As she threw the blanket on a shelf and raced to the shower, she heard Jaime through the door.

“Wench, so what if Tywin smells the sex on you? I think he’d be pleased by it. I’ve disappointed him so many times that I think what you believe as depraved he would view as something good on the side of his bastard son. More cubs.”

The door muffled his voice but there was no mistaking the bitterness. She grabbed a towel from the shelf this time and wrapped it around her. She opened the door and found Jaime sitting naked on the floor right next to it. He gave a start. “Sorry,’ she muttered.

He took her offered hand and stood up, heedless of his own nudity. She clutched the blanket and looked at him worriedly.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly.

“No.” Was the short answer delivered through gritted teeth. Seeing her flinch, he sighed loudly and pushed his fingers roughly through his hair. “No. I’m not angry at you. Please don’t think that. I just. . . _I don’t like being here._ ” He refused to look at her then, as if he had just confessed an embarrassing weakness.

It hit her just then just what she had asked of him. Nothing good about me here, he told her. Burned and purged. Wracked by guilt at what she was putting him through, she blurted out his name and suddenly hugged him. He sank against her heavily, the hard press of his body momentarily knocking the breath out of her. She tightened her grip on his body. For the first time, she must be strong for him.

How selfish she was to make him come here. Perhaps she should just love him and make no more attempts to help fix the rift between him and Tywin Lannister. Not only was she intruding on something she had no one hundred percent knowledge of but it might drive Jaime to drink again. She smelled not just the anger from him, but also fear. It wasn’t memories that scared him but what they might make him do.

“We can leave,” she said, her lips moving against the firm flesh of his neck, his sweat on her tongue. “We don’t have to say goodbyes. We can just leave.”

She felt the instant the burden was lifted off him but his arms tightened around her waist. “No.”

“Jaime—”

“No, we’re staying.” He insisted. He turned to kiss her hard on the mouth before pulling away from her. “Look, we’re already here. I can stand Tywin loathing me. I grew up like that. But not you. I won’t let that happen.”

“Do you think I give a fuck what your father thinks of me?”

This time he stared at her. “I do.”

“Jaime, please---” she tried again but he shook his head firmly.

“It’s the holidays, Brienne. We leave and that means Tywin will vent his ire on Tyrion and Margaery. Who will then go after us with stakes for fucking up the season for them. No, we have no choice but just bear it until we leave. It’s only three days.” He suddenly grabbed her and crushed his mouth against her again. Though she was confused and worried about him, she kissed him back, pouring her insatiable need for him with every brush of their lips, the caress of her hands on his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered heatedly as he yanked at the blanket and it fell in a heavy swoop down to her ankles. He took her mouth again, his kiss now gentle.

“You can make it up to me by telling me how much you love me,” he groaned.

She was about to kiss him again when she paused. “Jaime, I tell you I love you because I do. I don’t do it to manipulate you.” She said slowly.

“No, of course you don’t. You’re not that kind of person,” he said, kissing her around the face. “I just—when you say you love me—everything feels right, you know?”

As he spoke, he lifted her from the floor and brought her back to the bed. She blinked up at him, wondering just how damaged her husband was. Jaime had let her inside. She _knew_ him. But she was realizing now that no matter how deeply and strong your connection to each other was, there will be something about a person you won’t be able to reach. He was in her arms now, she could still taste his secret flavor at the back of her mouth, yet there was a distance.

That didn’t feel right. But she wondered if that was the truth for all relationships. That there will always be some part of the person you loved and knew so intimately that you simply could never reach.

“Tell me you love me,” he asked, taking her lips this time, scooping her back from the bed to cradle her in his arms. She felt like floating. Warm. Loved.

She looked at his beautiful face, her heart tight with the knowledge not just of her feelings but that this was barely a cover to the struggling wreck that he was. Jaime would need to be stitched back together again, she would have to scour the world for pieces of him that had been lost.

But she loved him, broken, pained, struggling. There was no other way to feel for him. She hated how hurt he was but he had come to her like this, a gift the world had trampled over before discarding. He was a gift. Her gift.

“I love you,” she whispered. “So much.”

His expression was both questioning and curious. She wondered if this time, he will tell her he loved her too.

He kissed her instead.

Kisses fell on every inch of her body, his lips and tongue painting on her as if she was canvas. She wondered about the kind of picture his kisses made on her skin, if it was love, or passion, need, or all of them. Is that what Jaime saw? She wanted to ask as their gazes flashed at each other before his mouth was on her again, muffling her cries as he thumbed and playfully pinched and turned her nipples. She flushed upon realizing that the motions of his fingers mimicked how she would turn the pegs of a cello, like she had shown him before. She felt as tight as a string on the instrument, desperate for the relief of a stroke.

“Say it again,” he whispered as she panted against his mouth. He took her lower lip between his teeth, dragging it again and again until it plumped red. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Jaime.” She moaned, throwing her head back as he pulled a nipple roughly between fingers. A sharp cry fell from her lips, cut off suddenly by the hungry swoop of his mouth. She raked her nails down his shoulders when his fingers slipped inside her cunt and began fucking her, no teasing, no gentleness. Just hard, almost brutal pumps of his fingers that made her wet and clutch him.

They were gasping against each other when someone knocked on the door. Brienne shrieked in surprise, her thighs trapping his hand in panic. Jaime cursed against her mouth, his gaze suddenly sharp.

“What is it?” He demanded.

“Ser Jaime, your father waits for you and Mrs. Lannister at the porch.”

“Oh my gods,” Brienne groaned, remembering. She reached for his hand to remove it from her cunt. “Jaime, we have to—”

“Tell my father to go right ahead,” Jaime shook his head at her, pushing his fingers deeper in her cunt. Her eyes widened before a throaty moan slipped from her lips. He grinned. “We will join him. Eventually.”

“Jaime—” she tried to protest but her head was moving from side to side. She was embarrassed, sure that the servant behind the door knew exactly what they were doing. But her hips won’t stop moving, her cunt refused to let his fingers go. He kissed her on the cheek.

“Er, will that be all, Ser Jaime?”

“Yes. That will be all.” He said firmly.

They waited until they heard footsteps walk away from the door. Then Jaime pushed his tongue in her mouth. She cupped his face, thrusting her tongue back.

“Jaime—” she tried again.

He shook his head. “No. _No_. I’m not having tea until I get to fuck you.” He cradled her cheek and asked, “Tell me you love me again? Please, Brienne.”

It wasn’t that she had no choice. It was all she wanted to do.

 

******

They made it to the porch close twenty minutes later. If Jaime had his way, they would remain in the room and just fuck until they had to go back to the city. It’s not that he didn’t try, but Brienne was stubborn and quite terrified of Tywin Lannister. Taking pity on her, he insisted that she take a shower then called for a servant to alert Tywin that they would be running later than expected.

Now here they were, sipping tea from delicate china, forced to take part in yet another inane conversation. Casterly Rock wasn’t just a viperous pit. It drained your mind too with all the proper talk and proper behavior endured lest people gossiped. Nothing embarrassed Tywin Lannister more than to be the subject of speculation or worse, a joke.

Image was everything for Tywin. He employed a public relations agency to make sure that only news about the Lannisters’ increasing wealth and their charity saw print. Jaime knew he kept a close watch on Roose Bolton’s trial not out of concern for Brienne but because of the lurid details of the crime that might make it to the media. Bad enough that his ex-alcoholic son was marrying some non-society person. Jaime knew Tywin viewed his marriage to Brienne as an insult. As far as Tywin was concerned, not only was Tarth a worthless name, she was also damaged goods.

He looked at Brienne carefully watching Tywin turn his cup, so he could grasp the needle-thin handle before taking a silent sip. Then, in an awkward imitation of the older man, she took saucer and cup from the table. Jaime noted how large her hands looked, how with just a flick of her fingers the expensive china would be smashed.  A smile touched the corner of his lips as he watched her bend, rattling the china in her hands so her eyes widened, before she took a deep breath and sipped. The warm beverage touched her lips for a second, but it was enough to make them as red as a rose.

She moved stiffly, putting the china back on the table before returning her hands on her lap. It was sweet how much of an effort she was making to be proper and well-mannered. Jaime reached for her hand and, without another thought, brought it to his lips. Pink and red colors exploded across her cheeks, like flowers in a war for which would bloom first. Sapphire eyes darted toward him, honest in their gratitude.

Unbeknownst to the couple, Tywin was watching the quiet exchange of a kiss and a gaze. His attention was on the scones by the time they turned away from each other.

“I had the chef make all of your favorites tonight,” Tywin spoke as he took a bite. “Unfortunately, Jaime didn’t tell me yours, Brienne. My assistant emailed him several times and I even asked him when you took me to that bar. As usual, my son would rather be mysterious.”

“I don’t like emails and if you had told me why you were asking I’d have told you,” Jaime answered, still holding Brienne’s hand.

“It’s alright,” Brienne said quickly, first glancing at him then Tywin. “I’m—I’m not a picky eater. No allergies. I’d eat anything, actually.”

“Will you, now,” remarked Tywin.

Jaime frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Alright, now what did I say this time?” Tywin demanded. “I can’t make a comment? I can’t express surprise at your wife’s claims that she’s quite the eater being that when I joined you a couple of nights ago she hardly had a bite?”

“Oh, I was too nervous to eat,” Brienne explained. Jaime saw how anxious she suddenly looked. Again, he squeezed her hand.

“But I’m glad you’re looking well, Brienne,” Tywin said, smoothly leading the conversation towards something harmless and pleasant. “Can I count on a performance from you after dinner?”

“A performance?”

“Of course. I saw you brought your cello with you. That means you’ll play, right?”

Brienne stared at him in a mix of horror and disbelief. “What?”

“That was a riveting performance you did the other night, Brienne,” Tywin continued, ignoring her shock. “Tell her, Jaime. My son does encourage you, doesn’t he?”

“Of course!” Brienne exclaimed as Jaime glared at his father. “Jaime is nothing but supportive. I was hesitant at first about practicing in the apartment because he clearly has a routine when painting. But. . .” she smiled at him. “He’s never minded. In fact, he makes sure I get my daily practice.”

“You should hear her performance of the _Wolves of Winter_ ,” Jaime made no attempt to hide his pride. “She’s wonderful.”

There it was again. Red and pink blooms fighting for dominance on her pale, freckled skin. It was the sweetest clash he had ever seen. He could focus on that and survive this ordeal with his father.

“Someday, sweetheart, you’ll have your own concert in Dragon Hall,” he continued, reaching out to touch a stray lock of pale hair clinging to her lips. “That’s where you belong. On the stage. With applause and roses thrown at your feet.”

She replied with another vivid, furious blush of crimson. It was going to happen for her. He would make sure.

“Well, great artists require practice. Care to give us a taste of your future performance in Dragon Hall, then, Brienne?” Tywin asked.

“Oh—oh—gods, please. Jaime was just—he’s just really supportive and—and—”

“Nonsense, dear.” Jaime bristled at the endearment to his wife. “For once, my son speaks the truth.”

That got Brienne’s attention. “Jaime doesn’t lie.”

The defense in her tone perked up Tywin’s attention. Smelling a fight brewing, he took the plate of scones and put some on Brienne’s plate, distracting her. He sent Tywin a warning glance and received one of confusion.

Suddenly, a servant appeared at Tywin’s shoulder, telling him of the arrival of Tyrion and Margaery. No sooner had the man spoken when two blond little boys came running toward them. Jaime laughed and stood up to welcome his nephews in his arms. Tyrion and Margaery followed shortly.

Tywin gave Tyrion a handshake and Margaery a kiss on the cheek. He also shook hands with his grandsons.

“Good. We’re just in time for good ol’ tea,” Tyrion said, nodding his thanks as a servant placed extra chairs for him and Margaery. Margaery sat down next to Brienne and the two women hugged and kissed each other on the cheek. Tyrion sat beside Jaime, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head in inquiry in the direction of Tywin. Jaime rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Boys, remember the nap we talked about earlier?” Margaery called out to her sons. They were already running toward the garden, their green eyes bright with mischief.

“Just ten minutes, Mom?”

“No, Aaron,” Margaery said firmly. “You promised to take a nap as soon as we arrive.”

“Let’s go,” said his brother with a sigh.

A servant was waiting to take them to their rooms. Margaery kept an eye on them until they reached the house and then turned to the people at the table. “They’ll be knocked out in a snap,” she said as a cup and saucer were placed before her and the teapot refilled. A hand on Brienne’s shoulder, she asked, “What time did you get here?”

“Too early for my taste,” Jaime admitted.

“He’s kidding,” Brienne said with mild exasperation. “We just didn’t want to get caught up in the traffic, that’s all.”

“Well, tell that to Mr. Workaholic here,” Margaery said with a pointed glance at Tyrion.

Tyrion held up his hands. “Well, I am sorry for finishing all my work so I won’t have a desk piled high with all that I’ve left unfinished when I get back.”

Margaery beamed. “Honey, you know I’m just messing with you.” She laughed as Tyrion blew her a kiss and she sent one right back. Jaime rolled his eyes while Brienne looked amused. “So, Tywin, when are we going to start putting up the decorations?”

“Are they necessary?” Tywin remarked. Though he was pleased to have his children and grandchildren around, he wasn’t too sold on it either. Jaime hid a smirk. His father didn’t like chaos and children and holidays always equaled to twice that. At least.

“Of course! A huge house like this and no decorations? I’m surprised they’re not yet up.”

“It seemed too much of an effort for something that’s just for the day.”

“So, let us take over some of the things,” Margaery said, smiling at Brienne. “Are you up to it?”

Brienne flushed. “I admit it was how Jaime sold coming here to me. Not that he has to. We want to come here,” she added quickly, much to everyone’s amusement. Almost everyone. Tywin sipped his tea.

“Fabulous!” Margaery exclaimed. “Alright. I propose that this time, Brienne and I pick the tree and you manly men get the decorations from the attic.”

As Margaery smoothly took over, Jaime glanced at Brienne. She was watching her goodsister with fascination and admiration, and he was glad that there were members of his family that welcomed Brienne. It meant a lot to him how Marge included her in the decorating activity. Having been an orphan for so long, he could only imagine how overwhelming it must be for his wife to suddenly have family. He understood why it was important to her for him and Tywin to at least get along, but it was like beating a dead horse.

When tea was over, Tyrion and Margaery went to their rooms to rest a little. Tywin said he was going to rest too—he had a light lunch and had worked again before tea. Jaime asked Brienne if she wanted to see the beach and she had nodded eagerly. She waited for him at the porch while he retrieved his sketch pad and charcoal from their room.

“I still can’t believe you have your very own beach!” Brienne said as they climbed down the stairs built into the rock wall. She was going ahead of him, needing only little direction on where to go. Pausing, she shielded her eyes and took in the brilliance of the aquamarine water in the sun and the smooth white sand. “Shit, it’s beautiful!”

Then with a sudden squeal, she took off, running down the rest of the stairs. Jaime stood back, smiling as she leaped off the last three steps, her landing sending a spray of sand toward him. She dropped her sandals on the sand and began taking off her shirt and slacks. She wore a dark blue swimsuit.

A sweet smile at him over her shoulder and she was taking off again. Jaime took his time on the stairs, picking up her clothes from the sand to hang them the railing. His sketching equipment, held in a small bag, was put at the end of the railing too.

While the rest of Westeros were huddled by fireplaces for warmth, Casterly Rock was bathed in sun and warm winds, though much stronger. The waves worried him a little, but Brienne leaped into the water like a happy giant fish, getting another smile from him. Of course she would be a strong swimmer. As beautiful as the waters of Tarth were, they also had very powerful waves that could reach as high as twenty feet on a normal day.

He removed his clothes, revealing his black trunks. He ran to the water, where Brienne was calling on him to hurry up. She was standing, her hair already wet and her nipples hard against the suit. Nothing could be more enchanting and so fucking sexy. He joined her just as a huge wave clapped into them and she shrieked.

They swam and played in the water. At one point, she tried to piggyback on him but another huge wave hit and sent them toppling back in the water. She coughed violently from having swallowed much sea water and he couldn’t help but laugh and toss more water in her direction. Her sapphire eyes flashed and with a shout, threw herself against him, sending him right under.

Their play lasted for close to an hour. It would be one of happiest times in their marriage. They joked and teased each other, dared each other to a swim race. When Brienne began to closely resemble a boiled lobster, he pulled her out of the water, smiling and shaking his head over her protests that a little sunburn never hurt anyone. A kiss and she was compliant, melting against him and letting him drag her out until he had to sweep her in his arms as they neared the shore.

It was a half hour before sunset, but they remained on the beach, drying themselves on the water-slicked sand. They held hands.

“Tell me about Tarth,” he asked her.

“Tarth?”

“Yes. You don’t really talk about it. Is it okay that I ask?” He turned to give her a glance. She sat up, sand clinging to her body. Despite her movements, their hands remained joined. It was sweet.

He saw the thoughts skidding across her face, like how she would regard a composition, hearing it in her head first, imagining the adjustments she would make on the cello to get the right notes. He sat up too. In order to brush the sand from her shoulder, he had to let go of her hand.

There was tension in her shoulders. He could tell just from the light touch. What he thought of Brienne just gathering her thoughts turned out to be something more complicated when she suddenly grabbed his hand and held it to her face. Though covered in sand, she kissed it.

“Hey, sweetheart. If it’s too hard you can choose not to talk about it. It’s okay,” he assured her.

“No, no. It’s not that. It’s just that. . .It’s been years since I’ve gone back. My dad’s grave is there but I haven’t returned since the funeral.” She confessed. Her lower lip was trembling.

“You haven’t been back for five years?” He was astounded.

“I know. I’m a terrible daughter.” Her shoulders slumped.

“No, you’re not.” he insisted, getting her to look at him. “But. . .why haven’t you been back?”

She blushed and looked away. “It’s just that. . .even if I went there just to visit him, it’s still too expensive. I worked three jobs before I was married to you. I never had to worry about rent but there were other bills. I know I should have worked harder and made sacrifices---”

“You’ve made more sacrifices than you can imagine,” he reminded her with a catch in his voice.

“But he’s my dad. Then there’s the fact that. . .there’s really nowhere for me to go in Tarth. And with him. . .where he is now. It’s just too harsh of a reminder that I’m alone.”

He was about to interject. That she was wrong. She had him. He knew what she meant, yet in many ways, he would never understand it. He was her only family now, but it was nothing like having a parent or a brother or sister.

“You’re not alone,” he said softly. “Don’t forget that.”

He scooted closer until his arm could wrap around her shoulders. She leaned against him. “I love you,” she whispered.

 

*****  
“You know,” Margaery told Tyrion as they were getting dressed for dinner that night. “You owe me.”

Tyrion, shrugging on his shirt, paused. He turned and was instantly rewarded by the sight of his wife walking around in sexy, black lace lingerie. Unaware of her effect on him, she bent to pull on a stocking.

“I owe you?” He asked, standing beside her. He leered at her cleavage appreciatively and she shook her head at him, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. A playful slap on the head and she turned to put on the other stocking.

“You said Jaime and Brienne will divorce once the trial is over, being the only reason they got married is for Brienne to take on Roose Bolton. I told you they have fireworks.” She straightened up, a hand on her curvy hip giving her a saucy stance. “And they still have them. I told you they’re going to fall in love with each other. Your brother can’t stop looking at Brienne. It’s sweet and I never thought your asshole brother could be called one.”

“You told me they’ll fall in love? Forgive me, my heart, but you were livid and wanted to castrate all men after you walked in on Jaime all over Brienne that first time. Remember?”

“Well, I thought he was taking advantage of her. Brienne is a lovely, nice girl and Jaime can be a scoundrel without meaning to be. He may be my employer and your brother but that doesn’t make me blind.” She turned away to get something from the closet and returned with two dresses on a hanger. “Honey, which is better? The red or the green?”

Tyrion pretended to groan as he pushed himself up on the foot of the bed. “You can dress as weird elf and you would still be the sexiest woman in the room.”

Margaery grinned. “Nice one. But you have to help me choose. I can’t dress like a well-paid escort this time. It’s such fun making Tywin uncomfortable but Brienne should know we’re not sadists like that. Well, not this holiday, anyway.”

Sevenfest dinner was a holiday affair. Last year, their children were still young and just thought their Mom looked nice in her tight, red dress with the plunging neckline and black fishnet stockings. Jaime thought it was a hoot and Tyrion was more in love with Marge than ever. Tywin Lannister could be such a tight-ass, despite imbibing alcohol. The Lannister brothers and Margaery had enjoyed way too much seeing the disapproval on Tywin’s face while trying not to look past her neck.

“I pick the green,” he said. It had intricate lace details on its sheer long sleeves and a square neckline. It had an understated, classy sexiness that was the perfect mix of dinner appropriate but still guaranteed to give Tyrion a hard-on. As it was now doing.

Margaery slipped on the dress and went to Tyrion for him to do the zipper. “Jaime’s good for Brienne too, which I never thought possible. She seems more confident. Oh, there’s still some shyness that I can imagine Jaime would find particularly thrilling in the bedroom but have you seen how he smiles a lot around her?”

“Let’s not talk about my brother’s sex life, please?” Tyrion complained.

“Oh, come on.” She turned to face him, the skirt swishing around her knees. “You seriously didn’t smell the sex from them earlier?”

Tyrion made a gagging sound. “You’re making me sick!”

He left the bed while Marge sighed loudly and went to get shoes. As Tyrion buttoned up, she said, “Well, they must be fucking a lot because Jaime is actually nice for a change. He’s always been great with his nephews but he not only gave me a very generous bonus this year, but said I should think about hiring two assistants. One personal—for him, and another one for myself. I think we’ve got a major show in the works and it’s Brienne we have to thank for. Be as immature as you’d like, Tyrion, but Jaime is not only clearly smitten. He’s inspired.”

“You can speculate as much as you’d like but I don’t know,” Tyrion admitted. “Yes, I noticed the change. The fact that he’ll be here for a few days means a lot.”

“I told you!”

“But they’ve only been together. . .what? Less than six months? Jaime is addicted to being needed. It’s his new vice after alcohol.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I know him longer than you do.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

Tyrion smiled. “Touché.” 

Margaery, now wearing her strappy stilettos, went to him. Her brown eyes were frank with feminine appreciation. Tyrion felt ten feet tall. “My husband. My lion. You do clean up nice.”

“Well, I have to catch up with you,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

“Speaking of catch-up, remember what you owe me?”

She bent to whisper in his ear and he smiled. Damn. Dinner was going to be _very hard_.

 

******  
The formal dining room, much to Brienne’s relief, did not have an impossibly long table that would require binoculars to see each other. Jaime teased her for not remembering and she retorted she was too nervous about not getting soup on her dress the first time he brought her before his father.

The arrangement put Tywin and Tyrion at opposite ends, with Margaery on Tywin’s right and their sons next to her. Brienne was on Tywin’s left and Jaime beside her.

Because of Margaery’s observation about decorations earlier, Brienne thought that tomorrow would be the beginning of it. She was wrong. Garlands of poinsettia adorned the walls and the tablecloth was a rich, crimson and gold brocade. The chandelier seemed a small cluster of a galaxy, bright as it was with lights and crystals. Aaron and Michael openly marveled at the lights and begged their parents for an after-dinner stroll because they hardly saw stars in the city.

She thought the twins were cute. Oh, they were clearly a handful with Margaery always having to reprimand but every time she spoke, they listened and made sure to do right the next time. Their hair was thick, golden blond, more like Jaime’s than Tyrion’s. Their eyes were the mismatched green and black of their father’s, and their smiles that of their mother. They were handsome boys, active and precocious as all normal children their age, but generally, well-mannered. Aaron shared with Brienne that he had just begun piano lessons.

“Do you play the piano, Aunt Brienne?’” he asked.

A little surprised to be addressed as such, Brienne took a moment before replying, “I’m afraid not. I had lessons when I was younger, but it was the cello I took to.”

“She goes to the Marillon,” Jaime told him.

“Mom and Dad took us to see the Philharmonic concert there before,” Michael piped up. “I didn’t like it so much but I thought the guy with the baton was cool.”

“He’s taking up fencing. Aaron the piano,” Margaery explained. “Our sons, everyone.”

“Do you know how to play a musical instrument, grandpa?” Aaron asked Tywin.

“Or fence? Do you know how to fence?” Michael added.

“Uh, I had piano lessons, but I never got decent enough on it,” Tywin replied, clearing his throat. “As for fencing, it wasn’t my sport. It was golf.”

“How exciting,” Tyrion remarked, lifting his goblet. Tywin sent him a withering look while he smiled back innocently.

“What about you, Uncle Jaime?” Michael asked.

“I played some JV soccer but I preferred to paint,” Jaime answered. “More fun for me.”

“I’d bet Aunt Brienne played basketball,” Aaron said, smiling at her. “Just like Mom.”

“Erm, actually, I didn’t do sports at all,” she admitted, her cheeks turning pink. From under the table, Jaime put a hand on her knee. “I mean. . .my high school didn’t really have an extensive sports program. Plus, I’d really rather play music.”

“I would rather have done music but my father and my brothers played basketball, so I had to do it too,” Margaery said, sensing her discomfort. As innocent as her words were, and she was clearly trying to reassure the younger woman, Brienne still felt a pang. What traditions in her family had she not been able to carry on?

“Brienne has an after-dinner treat for us,” Tywin told them, giving her a small smile. It looked like a grimace. “Unless Aaron would like to perform too?”

“Oh, no, grandpa. I’m only a month into my lessons. But I’d love to listen,” Aaron’s smile had twice the warmth.

“Thanks. Um…I hope my performance is okay.”

“You’re in the Marillon, Brienne,” Tywin’s voice was firm. “I expect your performance should be more than _okay_.”

“As all performances commanded by Tywin Lannister should go, right?” Jaime quipped, catching on Brienne’s rising anxiety. His hand on her knee tightened and she gave him a grateful look.

“It’s fine,” she whispered under her breath, for his ears only. She turned to Tywin and hoped her smile didn’t crack. “I’d be more than happy to play before the. . .family, Tywin. In fact, I look forward to it.”

The rest of the meal continued without conversations that might lead to potential arguments. As the evening wore on, everyone seemed to relax, even Tywin—or as much as it was possible for him. His grandsons peppered him with questions, which Brienne read as love and hunger for his attention. His answers were monosyllabic and the occasional two-sentence variety, but the latter was rare. Mot parents would have cautioned them against pestering an elder person but Margaery and Tyrion just smiled and would even contribute.

Besides, the children were not being obnoxious. Every question they raised was a hopeful peek into their quiet, often taciturn grandfather. They asked him about food he likes. If he thought pineapples should ever be on pizza. They asked about his favorite sports teams. Seeing this made Brienne feel warm and safe, despite her unfamiliar surroundings. Tywin Lannister may not have doled out enough affection on his remaining children but the brothers were clearly close, as seen from how they would talk and laugh and egg each other on. Even Jaime and Margaery, often at odds at work, would tease and make fun of each other.

Brienne could almost remember being with her dad. He was quiet too but there was nothing cold or unapproachable about him. He may not have given her a lot of advice, but he always seemed to know when she was down, which was often. Always she would come home to milk and freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies, or potato chips and soda. They would be waiting for her in the porch surrounding their house, with her father reading the newspaper or a book when she arrived. And when she had a particularly brutal day, he would make her favorite mac n’ cheese.

When she began getting good with the cello, Selwyn would ask her to play after dinner. She was taught classics but she learned his favorite songs on the instrument too. How his blue eyes lit up when she played, “Truth.” It was her parents’ song, a fact she had to find out for herself by watching their old wedding video. He had been in tears by the time she finished and to her surprise, gave her a fierce hug that lasted for a long time.

She had practiced as soon as they returned from the beach, with Jaime getting comfortable on a window seat and sketching her. He asked her about the song, wondering out loud if it was an original composition again. He did know how to flatter her and she hated having to disappoint him by saying no. He wasn’t.

Dessert was at the library, to accommodate all of them. There was tiramisu, coffee and brandy for the adults, warm milk for the twins. Brienne tightened the endpin of her cello, which lay on her lap, before spreading her legs to fit it between them. The gleam in Jaime’s eyes told her he had seen her underwear and she shook her head at him. He shouldn’t distract her!

She began with her Marillion audition piece, “Two Swords.” Though she knew it by heart, she didn’t get tired playing it. The challenge and intricacy of the piece made it such a joy to play—which shouldn’t be her mood at all due to the tragic story behind it. Lost in the beauty of the composition, she didn’t see how enthralled her audience were, especially Michael. He sat with Margaery, in her arms, and straightened up as he listened, Brienne’s masterful playing luring him into a kind of hypnosis.

When she finished, there was applause from her very appreciative audience. Tyrion whistled and Jaime called for more. She laughed. Her anxiety over performing before her family had vanished as soon as she positioned the bow across the strings. She got ready to play the next in her repertoire, which was, “Truth.”

She had to keep her attention on the cello as she played but every now and then would raise her eyes and find herself looking right into Jaime’s. She refused to be distracted yet at the back of her mind, she wondered if he loved her. He had saved her, protected her, and made all her pain practically a distant memory. She had said the words and would say them always, but what about him? Because gods, she could _see_ it in his eyes. She felt enveloped in it, but longed for the words. Was it sneaky of her to play her parents’ song in the hopes of getting Jaime to tell her? Maybe it was better to wait but she needed to know.

Some time after the applause, when the study had been deserted and the used dishes and china cleared away, the flames from the fireplace were still strong, flickering swords of light. She put her cello back in the case and Jaime’s arm wrapped around her waist.

How she melted against him, head falling back and baring the long curve of her throat as he kissed and nibbled her, his hands possessive on her breasts, her waist, her hips before descending under her skirt to seize her cunt. Her face was red, her breath shallow hiccups as he rained kisses up and down the side of her neck, on her shoulder while squeezing her cunt through her drenched panties. Playing didn’t turn her on. It was Jaime watching her, feeling how he loved her even just from his eyes.

She turned in his arms, needing to see, wanting him to tell her, now. But when she did he devoured her mouth, tasting the rich dessert and brandy that still coated her tongue. She kissed him back, fingers ruffling through his hair, her leg hitching around his hips to rub her aching cunt against his cock. And gods, he was so hard she expected him to bust out of his pants. His hands continued roaming her body, caressing her back, her arms, slipping under her skirt to cup her ass.

“Jaime,” she managed to say during a brief reprieve from their kiss. “Jaime, I—”

“I know,” he whispered hotly, biting her lower lip before sucking it hungrily. She felt herself lifted off the floor. She was about to make a joke about her lion taking her to his lair when it turned out to be a table just to the side of the room. Realizing that he meant to have her where anyone could see them, she shook her head. “Wait, Jaime. Jaime, someone might see---”

“It’s okay,” he said between kisses. He worked on the sash that kept her black wrap dress closed, loosening it. He pushed her dress open and claimed a tight nipple with his lips, making her cry out. She slapped a hand over her mouth and looked towards the door when he put a hand on her cheek and once again crushed her mouth under his. She kissed him back with abandon, raising her hips as he pulled off her panties.

“Jaime, please—” she tried again but another kiss cut her off and she couldn’t stop herself from responding, from touching him.

“I know. I know, sweetheart. _You want me to fuck you_ ,” he whispered, kissing her other nipple as his golden head moved lower down her body.

No, she didn’t just want him to fuck her. But with lust clouding her mind, she couldn’t recall what she wanted. But her heart actually hurt. Jaime’s lips on her stomach soothed some of the pain but it wasn’t enough. He spread her legs wide and his breath feathered the curls around her cunt. Remembering, she blurted out, “Please, Jaime. Tell me you love—”

But it was a moan, needy and passionate, that finished her sentence. As Jaime’s tongue thrust in and out of her cunt, her vision began to darken. She saw lions. _Roaring lions. Golden roaring lions on red._ Red was blood, death. She felt herself on the brink of one that was beautiful, peaceful, the kind of death that could only be dreamed about and never be put in words. “Jaime,” she cried out, spreading her legs wider, indicating she wanted more.

Indeed he gave her more, his tongue tasting her sopping folds, tip catching her secret, sweetest flavor. Her hands fluttered to her breasts, taking her nipples between thumbs and forefingers to pinch them as Jaime had. Desire lanced through her and her cunt poured more honey onto Jaime’s thrusting tongue, his thumbs spreading her labia wider as his greed for her taste and her moans increased.

Her hips were beginning to cramp and strain from their rough, sharp motions towards Jaime’s lips. She had felt the soft flare of an orgasm already, grunting rather than moaning. Jaime, more attuned to her body than she was, must have sensed the ebb of her desire because he suddenly mouthed her clitoris and suckled her, loudly and wetly.

_“Jaime!”_

 

******  
The next two days found Brienne mainly on her back with her legs spread wide open. But it wasn’t Jaime’s cock that fucked her. He had her with tongue and fingers, kissing away her pleas for his cock. She would complain if she wasn’t screaming from pleasure. He was always touching her, heedless of where they were.

After returning to Casterly Rock with Margaery and an eight-foot wintertree strapped on the roof of the car, Jaime grabbed her by the hand and pulled her behind him toward the thick wooded area surrounding the other side of the property. She laughed and asked him what was going on and he refused to answer. After what felt like an hour of running, she was suddenly on her back on a thick carpet of grass, her jeans yanked to her ankles. Jaime’s tongue was fucking her cunt before she realized what was happening. When she did, she could only moan that he go on.

Once, Michael and Aaron almost walked in on them in the _foyer_ with Jaime’s fingers in her cunt.  It was mortifying moment right then but later they laughed about it, with Brienne whispering she needed him to fuck her. Jaime smiled and turned her on her back, once again giving her his tongue

When they returned to King City, she shyly stroked him through his pants as he was setting up his painting equipment. She expected him to scold her playfully, all while pulling her towards the nearest flat surface and dropping his pants. Instead, he would push her against the wall and drop to his knees. His face would be buried in her cunt before she could tell him exactly what she wanted, _where_ she wanted. His kisses on her cunt, all over her body, was a testament to his desire that she would always have trouble believing. But for the longest time they satisfied her. Now they left her. . .bereft.

Lying beside him at night, she would watch him sleep. What if she asked? Would it somehow be imprinted in his mind, that she wanted to know if he loved her?

But the dark was for cowards. She had gone through so much already to cower at asking her husband for the truth. He had been honest with her regarding the darkest moments of his life. She could be honest with him about her most secret longing.

A day before the new term began, she was practicing on her cello while Jaime cleared away plates and utensils from their breakfast. “You are so good in playing that,” he said, turning away briefly from the dishes he was soaping to smile at her. “It’s haunting but very beautiful. What’s it called?”

“I don’t know yet.” She said, poising her cello to start playing again when she paused.

Jaime, resuming washing the dishes, was now facing away from her. She hugged the cello to her body.

“Jaime?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“When will you love me?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're sick reading how I'll be thanking SeleneU again for being a patient and wonderful beta, well, tough luck. Because I'm grateful that despite her schedule, she still makes the time to help and fix my story. Seriously, this is as much her story as it is mine. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you will be leaving a comment, please give a shoutout to SeleneU too:-)
> 
> ****  
> "Truth," the composition Brienne plays is actually from the genius that is Ramin Djawadi. It's the Jon and Dany love theme. You know, the first time they have icky incest sex.
> 
> If there are any Jon/Dany fans that might come across this fic, no, I have no hate for your ship. I simply don't like sex between relatives in fiction and most definitely in real life!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4_Psg5mV4c


	7. The Absence of Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Brienne deserves better.”  
> “Better, how? When she was broken, who put her back together again? Who was at her side encouraging her to fight? Who was fighting with her?”  
> “Anyone would have done the same thing.”  
> “No. Only you. Jaime, you were beginning to live again. She helped you with that. Why? Why do you have to hurt yourself? And her?”  
> “You won’t understand. Nobody understands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> RL, taking care of family, work, and getting more sick than usual delayed me so much in updating the series. I apologize for that. I didn't mean to keep anyone waiting and if people haven't forgotten this series and are still interested, here's the latest chapter! Thank you so much! 
> 
> To those discovering the Blue Awakening series for the first time (thank you for reading, yay!), the previous installments have been set to private. It's been a very tedious process limiting access to some of my fics. Mixed reactions met my decision, as expected. I started doing it because my work was plagiarized, which was heartbreaking. Limiting access does not guarantee it will not happen again but it controls the possibility. It's also easier to go after the plagiarist should there be a repeat, and I'm really hoping there won't be. 
> 
> However, after I've posted all the remaining chapters of Blue Awakening, I will be setting this to private again, for the reasons I've stated. Gifts remain public (why make it difficult for them to access it, right?) but the rest won't be. Plus there's a surprise towards the end that I think readers would love to see (eternal thanks to the rock star that is SeleneU!). 
> 
> *****  
> Beginning this chapter, catherineflowers steps in as beta, as suggested by SeleneU. Two of the best women in the fandom have judged and urged me to keep on with this story. I finished writing all the remaining chapters months ago and catherineflowers started the beta right away (and finished in warp speed!). The fault is mine! 
> 
> I wish chapters can be dedicated to people. I dedicate this to SeleneU, who's been a sounding board and held my hand through the birthing pains of the story, and to Kristilove for nagging me to update. Can you dedicate a fic to your beta too? Well, I'm still doing it! Catherineflowers makes me feel like a queen! 
> 
> So. . . (deep breath) here's the latest update.

_Brienne._

He spoke her name as if testing it. It had come to embrace all meaning of his life. It had come to mean everything to him. She looked up from her cello, bow pausing mid-stroke across the strings as she smiled with the sweetness of the Maiden and the warmth of the sun.

He paused before making his way to her, his eyes tracing every strand and lock of her pale hair, their random flips and inward waves that cradled her ears. For someone whose strength was packed in every inch of her body, she was also made up of soft, gentle lines and curves. The _need_ to draw her almost choked him.

Instead, he went to her, tracing her pale eyebrows with his fingertips. They were thick but arced shyly over her eyes, as if worried about hiding their vivid sapphire light or emphasizing them. He touched her cheek, feeling the slight rise of bone and muscle under the pad, and the warmth of a blush stolen from a rose. He thumbed her thick, pillowy lips, her chin, the arc of her delicate throat. It had always fascinated him, this long, gentle line of her. Gods. It was always so good to touch her. Knowing how warm and real she was.

Her eyes were open with curiosity. And trust. 

He sat down behind her, reveling in that familiar punch in the gut at her clean, wholesome scent. It radiated from every pore of her freckled skin, the warmth of her body. “Play,” he whispered in her ear, enjoying the slight shudder that went through her as she resumed. As the familiar but still unnamed melody lulled him to a feeling between fever and flight, he rested his head against the back of her skull, his hand easily slipping around her body to cup her cunt under the skirt.

The falter in her performance pulled a smirk from him. His sigh stirred the hairs at her nape as his fingers brushed against the soaked but coarse curls of her cunt. Gentle but determined circles were traced on her clit, causing a slow gush of her honey out of her. She breathed sharply, but without missing a beat in her play. He continued touching her, gauging until she was slippery enough to push a long finger inside her.

_Sweetness._

Feeling her tense and tighten, clench, around him, he breathed fast against her skin. His finger just remained inside her, deep, curling carefully. It drew the next slide of her honey.

His cock strained under his pants but instead of freeing himself, he put another hand on her cunt., resuming the carnal play with her clit.

She cried out, bow and cello falling from her hands, the latter falling with a crash that had him stiffening against her. As she panted against him, her legs now free to squeeze around his hand, he stared in horror at the cracked cheek of the cello at their feet.

Then he turned to Brienne, only to see another horror.

_Cersei._

Cersei as he’d last seen her. Her eyes bloodshot from tears. Her face angry, desperate. Taking advantage of his shock, she tossed him to the floor and climbed over him.

“Stop,” he cried out. He felt like drowning. He tried pushing her away, so she slapped him. Momentarily disoriented, she slammed her hand over his mouth, as he did to her many years ago, when they had only each other as an escape from grief. Her hair fell over his face as she leaned down to him, until all he saw were her eyes. Sharp. Emeralds. Just like his.

He turned away.

His protests were nonsense muffles under her palm. Her hand was small, but her desperation increased her strength such that she also managed to lock his flailing wrists under her other hand.

“You promised to protect me,” she hissed, her cunt spreading then closing around his cock. Jaime continued to thrash under her, trying to scream.

_“Jaime, I’m only safe with you.”_

Their eyes met. He had no idea what Cersei saw in him, but she removed her hand from his mouth.

Then she kissed him.

Her tongue slipped past his parted lips. She kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. “I’m only safe with you,” she repeated. She released his hands to take his face with surprising gentleness.

He kissed her back.

Freed his wrists from her hand and threw her to the floor. Spread her legs wide. Sank into her. She was despondent, helpless. _Needed him._ “Jaime,” she whispered, hugging him to her. Her legs wrapped around his back.

He was the only one around. This was the only antidote he knew when she was broken. They kissed again, and he swallowed her tears. But Cersei refused to be defeated. She hated to cry. She hated not being in control. She allowed him another kiss, a tentative thrust of tongue and cock before turning. Again, he was on his back, his head a little sore from the impact of his skull hitting the floor.

And the returning tide of sanity.

It was too late. Cersei held him, pulling him into an abyss in he  which he too had a hand. As the horror of this repeated transgression on each other consumed him, she screamed and came.

His shout pulled him awake and upright from the bed, eyes wide with shock at the vividness of the dream. For a moment, he could only stare in confusion at the blinding whiteness of the room, feeling as if the walls were closing in on him. His chest was tight, demanding oxygen. A tear spilled from the corner of his eye.

Jaime took a deep, harsh breath and other colors came rushing back, like paints spilled and now a mix of whirls and spools. Shivering, he fell back on the bed and drew the blanket over his head.

One month.

One month since Brienne left.

Something told him that this was not even the First Hell. It was only the beginning.

 _When will you love me?_ The question haunted his waking hours. Her voice followed him everywhere, hesitant and soft. He had made the mistake of looking at her when she asked him this. Voices could be shut out sometimes, if he was tired enough. But her face, so open with hope, her eyes sapphire mirrors reflecting his inadequacy … it refused to leave him alone. At least her scent had faded from the bed, which could be banished entirely with a simple change of sheets. But he was a masochist, he was discovering. For every sliver of pain his honesty gave her, he inflicted it on himself a thousand-fold.

And how his body manifested this. His fingers trembled as if from a trauma, never stilling long enough to hold a brush or charcoal. He knew the cure was _her_ — a moonbeam tendril of hair falling over her eyebrow, the gentle light of her sapphire eyes, freckles under his touch, sinking between her warm, hard thighs. Her scent. _Her_ , reaching up in the cupboard for a bag of potato chips, _her_ , toeing off her shoes, _her_ , embracing him from behind as he worked on a future masterpiece. _Her._   

His honesty had freed her but also signed away whatever chance he may had to have her again. To get her to even look at him without contempt. What choice did he have? She loved him. He saw in her eyes that he was her life, the beat of her heart. She would give him _everything._ She would leave nothing for herself. She would throw away the cello to save him. She would forget her talent to be with him, have his children. They barely dodged _that_ bullet and he had no intention to stop wanting her so much.

 _Cersei_. It was no longer a struggle to free himself from his sister but when he was weak and in pain, she returned with a vengeance. Reminding him of what they’d done. How together they corrupted with each other any notion regarding love and protection. What it did to her. What she ended up doing to him. What he did.

Alcohol had been his escape. Sober for a long time now, the memory of that last time was clear, crueler than he’d like to remember. He remembered being afraid of his sister. Remembered remaining on the floor, throat raw from his cries as Cersei fixed herself. Brienne only knew what he managed to remember. Now that he was without her, he was a slave to dark memories. _You will speak to no one of this abomination. It ends today. It never happened._

He knew the truth. But the silence he was forced into, the lie demanded of him to accept, was gnawing at him like a beast savoring meat and its juices off bones. Brienne’s love and goodness pulled at him. It was the promise of light. His redemption.  

He didn’t deserve it. The monster of the past would get her too. How could she still love him if she knew the truth?

The truth of what had happened the last time he was with Cersei had hit him during their visit to Casterly Rock. He was terrified of what his heart was making him do, where it was leading him. From the beginning, his promise was to protect Brienne. For her dreams never to be derailed again.

When she finally said she loved him, he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to. Brienne with her goodness never denied him. She made him forget what he’d done. What he could do to her life.

There were no words to make what happened clearer or approach the realm of sense. All he knew was it was the only thing he could do, that by giving the angry, tearful Cersei his body, she would forget her pain. He _gave_ himself to her. His resistance was only in the beginning. It didn’t take long for him to become willing.

Smacked hard with the truth that he was unworthy of Brienne and her love, he tried to keep himself away from her. Fucking – it’s what he always did when he was trying to save someone. He’d fucked Cersei to protect her first from the pain of their mother’s death, then her marriage.

He started fucking Brienne so she would never know of cruelty again. But after what happened with Cersei, he became terrified of dragging Brienne with him into the darkness. After everything she had suffered. He couldn’t do it to her. He should have let her go before she said she loved him.

So much for his protection. In the end Cersei destroyed herself. He couldn’t do the same to Brienne. If she’d had a child, _if she’d been pregnant that time_ . . .that would be two more lives destroyed. By him. The child would keep her from the cello. Having to protect him from dark memories would divide her even more. Her life for his, her soul for his sanity.

 _I should have told her._ And he still lost her despite the silence.  

Brienne had her whole life ahead of her. He was poison.

 

*****

 

When he got up a while later, his eyes fell on the blue cello secured in its stand by the bed. Brienne did not take it with her. She took nothing from their marriage, except only his name. She could easily drop it, fling it like rubbish in the street. He deserved worse.

It was noon when he shuffled downstairs. Margaery was in the living room, giving instructions to an assistant he’s asked her to hire. A young, broody fellow with longish, curly dark hair tamed with a ponytail. Jon Snow, if Jaime remembered his name right.

There was no way for Jaime to make himself invisible. Sure enough, he felt the cold regard of Margaery’s eyes when she looked at him through Jon’s shoulder. He didn’t give a fuck. He looked in the fridge, got a can of soda, took some bananas from the tray on the counter. He couldn’t move fast enough. Resigned to another blistering lecture, he pulled out a stool from under the counter and sat down. He began to eat.

“That will be all, Jon. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, alright?” She told him, getting up from the sofa.

“No problem, ma’am.” Jon slipped his notebook in a bag and turned, pausing suddenly at the sight of Jaime. He looked taken aback by the messy hair, rumpled t-shirt and the unkempt beard. “Mr. Lannister,” he said politely.

Jaime nodded. “On your way, Jon.”

“Uh, yes. Absolutely. Right.” Jon strapped on his messenger bag awkwardly. “Um, I’ll see you, then, sir. Ma’am.”

“Go on, Jon.” Margaery’s smile was warm and sincere until he left. Then she turned to Jaime.

“Marge,” Jaime said with a sigh, taking a bite out of the banana. “Stop yelling at me if you don’t want me to fire you. I don’t care if Tyrion actually smashes my kneecaps.” He and his brother weren’t on very good terms right now.

“Alright.” Margaery crossed her arms and glared at him. “I saw something interesting on your desk.” She nodded in the direction of his studio.

Jaime gave her a warning glance. “Stay out of it.”

“A divorce? Are you _insane_?”

“Marge, I told you—”

“Oh, fuck the job, Jaime. We both know if you fire me you’ll hire me in the next breath. I’m the only one who can put up with you.” She glanced toward the studio again then him, her expression aghast. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“It’s for her own good.”

“No, you!” Margaery exclaimed. “Why do you still punish yourself?”

“Look, if you care for Brienne as you claim to—”

“I don’t just care for Brienne. I’ve come to love her. You, I just don’t know anymore. Jaime. She was good for you. You were good for each other. That girl loves you—”

 _I love you._ It’s Brienne again. The hot whisper of those words in his ear as he fucked her and felt the world was finally right. Her eyes almost silvery under his heated gaze.

He nearly crushed the can in his hand.

Jaime rested his forehead on his palms as Margaery stomped toward him. She was panting, even whimpering. When he dared to glance at her, she looked close to tears.

“For the first time since I’ve met you, you were actually happy. True, most of the time I want to punch your pretty face bloody but I’ve always wished for your happiness. _Jaime_. How can you do this to her? To _yourself_?”

“Brienne deserves better.”

“Better, how? When she was broken, who put her back together again? Who was at her side encouraging her to fight? Who was fighting _with_ her?”

“Anyone would have done the same thing.”

“No. Only you. Jaime, you were beginning to live again. She helped you with that. Why? _Why_ do you have to hurt yourself? And her?” 

“You won’t understand. Nobody understands.”

_“Make me, damn it.”_

“No.” Jaime looked at her then. Margaery started to speak again when he put up a hand to stop her.

“In this house, you are my employee. You will not say another word about Brienne or my personal life. I will fire you. And if your husband interferes, I will hurt him. No matter how much I love him. Is that clear?”

 

*****  
Davos Seaworth held up his hand a bit. It was enough for Brienne, frustrated, relieved and exhausted, to remove her bow from the cello. Though it was cool in the room, her face and neck were sweaty and pink.

“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “I know the kind of performance I’m putting in. It’s shit.” She blushed in horror. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Relax for a moment, dear,” Davos told her kindly. “There’s time. Have a break.”

She shook her head and positioned her bow on the cello again. “I’ll do it—”

“Brienne.” His voice was of quiet command. “Just for a moment, alright?”

She stared at him. His eyes looked at her with concern. For a second, she thought she was seeing her father. She closed her eyes, nodded, then opened them. Spinning the cello on its endpin, she got up to return it to its case.

Being off the chair did her a lot of good. Brought blood back to the soreness in her back, the numbness of her bottom. Grateful, she turned to her professor, who was looking at her inquiringly.

“I know this is not my place,” he began. “But is something the matter?”

She flushed. “What do you mean?”

“Your playing is not bad. It’s still good. But that’s the problem. We both know you’re more than good. When you play the cello, Brienne, I witness two souls recognizing its counterpart in each other. What I’ve been seeing since the term began is. . .a desperation. From you. Confusion too, if I may be blunt. ”

She bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Brienne, I’m not looking for an apology,” Davos said patiently. “You are my best student. We know you’re so much better. But let’s forget that for a moment. What’s going on with you?”

“It’s nothing, really.” She said, feeling her throat well up. “Professor, I promise. I’m alright.” Her cheeks burned at the lie.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. Um, may I be excused? I need to visit the ladies’.’”

“Of course.”

Once in the privacy of the bathroom, she ran to one of the cubicles and shut the door. Hand on mouth, she gave let the tears falls, sobbing as quietly as she could. Whoever said about giving yourself a good cry? Crying was never good. She just felt more miserable, reminded harder with every teardrop that Jaime didn’t love her. She rested her forehead on the door and gave in to the tears. They dripped down her face. Her eyes hurt from them. But she didn’t stop, not until they were all gone. _For now._

Calm now, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

She glared at her tear-stained face in the mirror. Gods, she was ugly. No wonder Jaime couldn’t love her. What a fool she’d been. Mistaking his kindness for love. His pleasure at fucking her as love. She was just some form of charity for him, and a giving, welcoming cunt.

Shaking from the emotions wrung out from her so quickly, she washed her face, dabbed it dry with a tissue and checked herself in the mirror again. Her eyes were bloodshot but they had been like this since leaving Jaime. She was pale too. Sighing, she returned to Professor Seaworth.

She played for another hour, knowing in her heart that she wasn’t doing her best. By the time it was over, she was doubtful if she could still stand up, let alone carry her cello three blocks to the subway then walk seven blocks to her old studio apartment.

But she heaved herself up, swallowing a whine at the pain shooting up from her feet to her legs.

“Are you at least getting enough rest, Brienne? Or are you eating right? I know it’s not my place to say but you look like you’ve lost weight,” Professor Seaworth told her.

She flushed and rubbed her eyes. “I’m tired, professor, that’s all. I promise to do better next time.”

“No need for promises. Just make sure.”

She lugged her cello case out of the room and stomped down the hallway. As she approached the top of the stairs, her phone rang. Missandei.

“Hey,” she said, tightening her hold on the cello case then tucking the phone between ear and shoulder.

“So, the guys and I thought to hang out at the dorm tonight. Are you free? There’s pizza.”

“Oh.” Her stomach growled. Pizza sounded like heaven right now. But--“Um, I’d love to but uh, I have a thing tonight.”

“You can’t get out of it?” Missandei asked.

“N-No. I can’t. It’s a thing.” Brienne clutched the phone. “With Jaime.”

Gods, it felt like stabbing herself.

“Alright, then. Give him our love. And if you see his dad—”

“I promise to the do same.” She was going to be sick. “See you around.”

Except for Sansa and Olenna, no one else knew what had happened between her and Jaime. Lying to Missandei, Drogo and Jaqen wore her out but she just couldn’t deal with their questions and pitying looks right now. Or ever. It was too painful and school, though she sucked at it right now, at least made her forget.

She missed her train, so she was stuck on the platform for a few more minutes before being able to get on. Since everyone was on their way home, the carriage was full. She grasped one of the bars and stared dully ahead of her. Home would only be a brief stop for a change of clothes and no-cook noodles. Then she was off to work.

Her old boss at Mop Busters, Harald Karstark, couldn’t give her a job because the roster was full, but he referred her to Manderly Janitorial Services. Because of school, she couldn’t do normal work hours and thus got the night shift cleaning the offices in Westerland Insurance Building.

By the time she got home, she could barely keep her eyes open and was thinking about trading dinner for a longer nap. Besides she wasn’t that hungry.

Thank the gods she had the presence of mind to keep it else she would be homeless now. She kicked off her shoes and flung her bag on the dining table on her way to the bed. But with her cello, she was careful.

Leaving the blue cello Jaime had commissioned for her was almost as hard as leaving him.. It reminded her of him too much and she was fighting a losing battle against every memory of him. She went to the music store and lucked out on a cello on sale. So what if it wasn’t her preferred brand? School was starting and she couldn’t be picky.

Nevertheless, she put the case down gently, cradling it in her arms like a child . At least she still had her music, although she could only play by rote now. She swore to do better tomorrow.

Brienne glanced at her watch and sighed. There was some time. Ten minutes for a nap, five to change her clothes another to run for the bus station. She set the alarm on her phone and was asleep before her head touched the pillow.

 

*****  
It was as silent as a graveyard.

Brienne sprayed some window and glass cleaner on a piece of cloth. The squeaks of cloth circling the window and her soft breath were all that could be heard in the office. Just as well. Most people chased the silence away with music blasting in their ears. Not her. Music, any music, reminded her of Jaime.

How could it not? He had always been there when she had practiced compositions, working on his own art, dropping a kiss on her forehead on his way to make a fresh pot of coffee. When taking a break, he had sat on the couch and watched her. His presence had made her fumble; she’d teased him for being so good-looking it was distracting. But she’d taken her bow, resumed from the very beginning of the composition.

When she hadn’t been practicing and had put on her hard rock playlist, he had been _there._ Sometimes singing along. Often he’d fucked her to the rhythm of the song, roughly and so perfectly.

Even without a song in her ears, she remembered one so clearly, so painfully. “Maidenfair,” by the Bloody Mummers.

Soon after they had returned from their honeymoon, she and Jaime had been minding each other’s business in the loft. He’d sorted through the mail. She’d put her phone on the speakers and switched to her hard rock playlist. She’d unpacked, hummed under her breath then got hungry.

She’d gone downstairs and suggested to Jaime she could go out and get them dinner. But before he could agree, a heavy rain began to fall. He touched her hair and suddenly kissed her.

That kiss had led to so much more. They’d ended up having to settle for potato chips because it rained all afternoon. He’d also hardly stopped fucking her. The tempo of Maidenfair was furious, urgent, and his cock had thrust into her in time with the beat. She had still not been used to being wanted, had still been discovering how much she desired Jaime. As he’d slept in her arms, she’d felt the first stirrings of love.

Now she did not know what hurt more—Jaime no longer in her life, or Jaime unable to love her.

 _I can’t,_ he told her. _I can’t._

She scrubbed the window harder, as if to erase the sweep of memories. If only.

It had become an indelible part of her. Jaime’s shock at her question. The crash of glass and porcelain as they slipped from his fingers. She expected surprise but not shock. They got married so she would have his name and money to fight Roose Bolton.  There was never going to be love--their promise to each other. What a fool she was. A pathetic, hopeless fool. _I should have kept quiet. It’s my fault. I broke our agreement._ She was so wrong, confusing his desire and concern for her as love. And to expect him to feel the same. . .practically begging him to love her. .

And that was when he told her. He looked sick but determined. _I can’t. I can’t._

When the glass was so clear there didn’t seem to be anything barring the viewer from the lights of the city below, she dropped her arm and stared at herself. There. She looked exactly as she felt. Hurt. Betrayed.

_Fool._

She sniffed and turned away to do more windows. Someday, she would be smarter. Harder. Able to delineate kindness from passion, love from fondness, duty from desire. They agreed to never fuck each other before getting married. She remembered. He would marry her to give her the name and the power to fight Roose Bolton in court. Jaime was a man in his prime, he couldn’t help himself from fucking her. That she was his wife, ugly as she was, aided in satisfying this need.

The sooner she got to that place where her brain was, the better. She wished for death every time memories of Jaime haunted her. He was _everywhere_ , even here, in this office. She could never forget his scent. She still lay in bed in a way that hoped for the reassuring crush of his embrace. Her breasts ached from the absence of his hand and her cunt—

She felt lost and empty. Much of their relationship revolved around fucking but when Jaime fucked her, she felt complete. Being with him felt like the rightest thing.  She let the walls built around herself fall but not once did she feel exposed to pain. Vulnerable, indeed, but the kind that never brought fear into her heart. He couldn’t love her but chipped away the parts of her that made her so afraid and mistrustful.

She lost herself in the demands of her janitorial work, as she had been trying for over a month. She worked part-time, from Sundays to Thursdays. Fridays she focused solely on school and Saturdays were for catching up with the rest of her academic requirements.

Money would not be a problem if she wasn’t too proud to take her share from their joint bank account. In fact, weeks after leaving, Jaime left a message on her machine demanding why she hadn’t touched the money. He was convinced she was starving or dead. Still too hurt from his rejection, she got in touch with Addam to relay that she was alive and not starving.

The money she saved for school before marrying Jaime remained untouched. She could opt not to work but it made her nervous dipping into it without putting anything back. Surviving on her own was nothing new but she’d never done it before with a broken heart.

She worked to forget Jaime. The thought of being in the same room with him scared her. Though it was nothing new to work and to be back in her old studio apartment, the heaviness in her heart and her body were struggles. But this was part of sacrifice, she chose to think. And used to it.

As long as it didn’t get in the way too much of school and her cello practice, she would make it. She woke up at five in the morning every day, practiced for two and a half hours before going to school. What free time she had she spent in one of the practice rooms with her cello and a sandwich that would only be half-eaten. Then she was off to Ear Training, Ethics, Chamber Music.

During her night shift, she kept to herself. It made her co-workers curious but when it became clear she preferred to be left alone, they began to avoid her. She wasn’t bothered by that. More people meant more questions and though she had some answers, she didn’t like sharing them. She hoped her employer didn’t look too closely at her application. She had simply dropped Lannister from her name and listed herself as single.

Half past midnight was the end of her shift. Brienne pulled her cap low over her head and secured her gloves before stepping out in the street. Winter began a week ago. King City was a heap of one snowy mound after another, the streets and sidewalks slick and the temperature dropping each day. Brienne shuddered as the late chilly air stung her cheeks. Looking at both sides of the street, she hurried to the convenience store right across from the building.

She got coffee and a pack of Sevenlights. Until recently, she didn’t smoke, but now, with her body hanging between restlessness and exhaustion, smoking calmed her somewhat. She lit up outside of the store, taking a deep, desperate drag. Right on the dot, her bus rolled by from around the corner. Another drag, then she flung the cigarette to the pavement. Her coffee cradled protectively to her chest.

She pressed her card on the scanner and took a seat at the back. There was little difference between the temperature outside and inside the bus. But she was going home and there waited her bed and a heavy comforter.

Nothing more.

In the window, she saw her face crumple.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> ****  
> If you're interested in giving the previous installments a look, just log in. :-)

**Author's Note:**

> A shoutout to my beta, SeleneU! I loved working with you so much in Pieces of You. Glad that it continues here!
> 
> To my readers, I apologize for the long delay in the update. Real life gets so busy and everything is a priority. I intend to update every two weeks. I hope it's alright. Thank you for still reading this. I promise to make it worth your while. 
> 
> ICYMI, Brienne and Jaime would only have sex with her on top because she gets flashbacks of Roose's assault whenever she's on her back. So in the last chapter of the previous installment, when she has Jaime on top of her when they have sex, it's a big deal. She completely trusts him. That's why my notes before the story have scenes leading up to it but if you don't get it, then you have this additional explanation. 
> 
> *****
> 
> Guys, I'm not a lawyer. So if there's something off with the trial procedure, I'd appreciate constructive criticism. No snark, please. You know, comments like "This is stupid," and stuff like that. I can't guarantee I'll revise it at some point but I'll make sure to remember your suggestions the next time I do write a similar scene. One can only do so much. And hey, if D&D can make you believe in the Westeros Jetpack, then please send a little of that generosity over my way. :-) Thank you.


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